Luna Amour
by H.J. Bender
Summary: Upon returning to the Vatican, Van Helsing discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed; he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote. Slash. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter I

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**I.**

It had been much easier, Gabriel van Helsing noted, to leave Transylvania than to arrive.

Scarcely had the ashes of Anna Valerious' funeral pyre been given to the winds of the Black Sea than the infamous monster-hunter and a courageous young friar were making their arrangements to leave Eastern Europe. Though their mission had been a victory, the dawning realisation of having lost so much in order to save just as much was quite enough to cast a vague shroud of gloom on the rest of their journey. Let it not be denied that they were glad for the job to be finished and even more grateful to be alive, but one cannot simply shut out the sadness that comes to mind when reflecting upon all of the would-haves, should-haves, could-haves.

Van Helsing suggested that they depart Transylvania the same way they had entered—without permission or anyone's prior knowledge. Carl had had no choice but to agree, well aware of the customary brand of farewell that seemed to accompany Van Helsing wherever he travelled. And so, like shadows in the background of the awakening town which they had liberated from the curse of vampires, the two men quietly slipped away without uttering a word of good-bye.

The voyage home was long and tiring, sapping what little strength that battling the forces of evil had not already stolen. Van Helsing and Carl seldom spoke to one another the whole way, perhaps both realising the futility of words in the aftermath of such a biblically-proportioned maelstrom. Nevertheless, they were thankful for each other's presence; it would have been far worse to bear the silence by one's self over the leagues of unfamiliar land, and they were comforted by the company they provided one another, however reserved it was. It was certainly better than nothing at all.

After making their way across the Adriatic and stepping once more onto Italian soil, their moods lightened considerably, perhaps in the notion that the great expanse of sea behind them had washed clean the dreary memories of death and darkness harboured in their minds. And as they continued towards Rome on horseback, they began to return to their usual selves, talking occasionally while passing through the picturesque landscape and looking forward to arriving at the place they called home.

"What are you going to do?" Carl had asked once while en route northwards through the province of Campania.

"About what?" Van Helsing replied.

The friar sounded meek and uncertain as he said, "When we get back to Vatican City. You're not… I mean, you're still going to be with us, right? The Order, that is. You're not going to…"

"Run off and disappear?" Van Helsing removed his broad-rimmed hat and placed it on the saddle horn, turning his gaze towards his comrade. "Don't worry, Carl, I'm not going anywhere. Not while smelling like this, anyway."

Carl smiled and nodded, though the gesture was hollow and insincere. Van Helsing caught on immediately and narrowed his eyes in concern.

"You seem troubled," he observed.

"Troubled?" came the echo. "Well of course I'm _troubled_. We both nearly died not too long ago, in case you'd forgotten."

"I hadn't," said Van Helsing. "I just try not to dwell on in too much."

"You do that," Carl huffed somewhat peevishly, "and I'll dwell for the both of us, because right now I'm dwelling like I've never dwelt before."

"…is something the matter? Are you feeling well?"

"What? N-no, nothing's the matter. I feel fine. Why would you ask a silly thing like that?"

Van Helsing made a dubious expression. "You look guilty."

"Do I?" Carl asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. He realised his err and repeated more calmly, "Erm, do I?"

"What did you do, Carl?"

"Nothing."

"If this is something direly important that you've been withholding from me all this time, it's going to take an act of God to keep me from-"

"I-I slept with a woman," Carl stammered quite suddenly, and Van Helsing's eyebrows arched in mild surprise. "In Transylvania. After Dracula's brood attacked the town." The friar's face began to turn beet red. "It was my first time."

"Really? Well, congratulations then."

"Thank you," came the uneasy reply.

After a pause Van Helsing added, "So, how was it?"

Carl appeared to be quite embarrassed as he answered in a small voice, "It was all right, I suppose. Awkward. Messy. It was fun, though."

Van Helsing smiled, perhaps for the first time since leaving Romania. "I'm sure it will make an interesting topic at confession."

The friar slumped guiltily. "I know, I know," he mumbled. "I've seen enough debauchery these past few weeks to last me the rest of my life." He paused briefly before asking, "Do you suppose God will forgive us for all those sins we committed? I mean, considering the circumstances we were under, I think we ought to at least be granted some leniency, don't you think?"

Van Helsing leaned back in the saddle. "I wouldn't worry about God's forgiveness, Carl. It's the Church's forgiveness I'd be concerned with."

"Yes, I was afraid of that," murmured the friar, pulling himself deeper into the recesses of his cloak. "I'm bloody doomed."

His comrade sighed. "Well, looking on the bright side of the matter, at least the worst is over and done with. Sins can be forgiven and consciences can be cleansed," he said reverently, gazing at the passing scenery as if searching for a familiar face. "Regardless of whatever means we employed to reach our end, I still think they will be glad to see us again."

† † †

Cardinal Jinette could hardly contain himself. "Well done, Van Helsing!" he exclaimed with more fervour than the huntsman had ever heard him use, clasping the hands still dirty from travel. "Your success in vanquishing the evil of Count Dracula and allowing the Valerious ancestors to find eternal peace is perhaps the greatest of God's work you have yet done for us."

He frowned slightly and his tone became reprehensive, yet still the pride for his heroic ward could be heard running beneath it. "I cannot say much about the collateral damage you have caused, nor the rumours that will be circulating in Transylvania for years to come, but I am willing to overlook these inevitable flaws in light of the victory of your quest."

"I could not have done it alone, Your Grace." Van Helsing turned halfway to pull the sputtering young friar out from behind him. "Carl was of great help to Anna and I, may her soul rest in Heaven. We never would have succeeded without his bravery and expertise."

Carl was nearly flattered into a speechless stupor. "Yes, well, I… it, it was all the Lord's will. I was only a catalyst."

Cardinal Jinette smiled and placed a hand on the friar's shoulder. "And to think you had been so unwilling to be a part of this mission in the beginning; but you endured and went on, and you have accomplished many good things because of it, Carl. Your spirit has been tried and tested in the waters of the fiercest storm of iniquity, and yet you have returned to us with God still in your heart, and your spirit untainted by the poisons of that immoral realm in which you fought. Perhaps your journey has made a man of you, my son."

"In a sense," Van Helsing muttered under his breath with a grin.

Carl began to choke.

"What was that?" Jinette inquired.

"Innocence," Van Helsing reiterated, trying to keep a straight face. "A pure heart is more valuable than a sword when battling wickedness such as we did."

"Indeed it is." The Cardinal smiled. "You two look weary from your travels. Come, let's get you taken care of."

† † †

Van Helsing could not recall ever having been more grateful for a hot bath in all his life. He lingered in the tub much longer than usual, partly because he was especially filthy and partly because he needed time to inspect his entire body for knots, bruises, swellings, cuts, scrapes, scratches, lacerations, punctures, and anything else that might require medical attention. What wounds he found were remarkably well-healed, although his limbs were still sore from dueling with Dracula and many hours spent in the saddle.

When he finally managed to reluctantly pull himself from the bath and into some comfortable clothes, he lasted only long enough to find his way back to his small, simple, maps-and-weapons-cluttered room and clear off a space on his narrow bed before dropping onto the mattress, practically asleep before his head even touched the pillow.

And for the first time in many weeks, he dreamt of nothing.

† † †

Sunlight was streaming through the narrow window high on the eastern wall when a rapping on his heavy wooden door roused Van Helsing from his slumber. He sat up with full clarity as a familiar voice called, "Hello, Van Helsing? Have you died in there?"

"I'm alive," he answered, running and hand through his bed-tousled hair. "Come in, Carl."

The door creaked and the friar's blond head poked out from around it. "Are you decent?"

"I try. _Salveo mane_ to you, too."

"You need to work on your casual Latin," Carl said, stepping inside.

"I've just woken up."

"It's never too early."

"I beg to differ," Van Helsing muttered, lying back down and rolling over onto his side.

Carl was walking gingerly through the room, taking care to avoid disturbing any of the clutter. "Are your quarters always this messy? Heaven's sakes, some of this stuff could kill a person if they tripped over it in the dark. Pushing your bed against the wall like that won't help either, I'm afraid. It just makes more space for rubbish to pile up."

"It's not rubbish. It's my arsenal."

"Well, I haven't seen you use these _sai_ in ages, and if something hasn't been used in six months then you really don't need it. And when are you ever going to fix that shelf? You've been propping it up with that scabbard for at least two years now, maybe even three if my memory serves me correctly-"

Van Helsing wrapped his pillow around his head and shut his eyes tightly.

"-think it makes any difference, but you should at least try to set aside some time to do a little spring clean-" Pause. "Van Helsing, are you listening to me?"

The legendary huntsman winced. "I've been trying my damnedest not to, but since you insist..."

"Cardinal Jinette sent me down here to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine. Why would he wonder?"

"You've slept for an entire day," Carl clucked reprovingly. "It is now Thursday afternoon, I'll have you know."

"An entire day?" Van Helsing sat up, brow furrowed.

"I hadn't counted upon you being this exhausted, but you endured a great deal more than me so I guess it's only fair…" He trailed off and looked at Van Helsing with a recognisable brand of seriousness. "Are you certain you're feeling well?" he asked gently. "Be honest, I won't condemn you."

"I'm not feeling wolfish, if that's what you're implying," Van Helsing replied, offering a playful half-grin to lift the curtain of worry from his friend's face. "Though I think I could eat a whole sheep if I tried; I'm ravenous."

"The Cardinal thought you'd be. I suggest you get dressed and I'll meet you in the Square in twenty minutes, unless of course you think you can stomach the tasteless fare from the kitchens."

"I'll be ready in fifteen."

The friar nodded and shuffled his way out of the room. Van Helsing stared at the door for a few moments, and, as expected, Carl's innocently smug face popped into view once more.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, "it's _ave mane_º."

† † †

Roughly fifteen minutes later, Van Helsing met Carl in the centre of St. Peter's Square. It was a gorgeous day in Vatican City: crystal blue skies streaked with the occasional slender white cloud, sunlight shining down from above and warming the stones of otherwise cold and formal looking architecture, and a mild Mediterranean breeze blowing gently from the west. It was difficult to believe that less than a month ago all of this was in danger of being plunged into eternal darkness.

"Well, look at you!" Carl exclaimed in disbelief as Van Helsing approached. "I barely recognised you without the duster. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you could pass for a proper gentleman."

"Don't flatter me too much. I wouldn't want to develop an ego," Van Helsing said with friendly sarcasm; he had traded his usual rugged outfit for a more casual attire consisting of brown pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a matching brown waistcoat.

"Don't worry about flattery—you're still missing the necktie and kerchief," the friar tutted as he deftly adjusted Van Helsing's collar for him.

"I'd rather be strangled by a python than wear a necktie and you know it."

"Naturally. I can't say much about those boots or that old hat of yours, but it's still an improvement from your recent look. Why, you've even shaved. Good show."

"I'm glad I've passed His Majesty's inspection."

Carl nodded several times and patted Van Helsing's shoulder in approval. "Well, come along then, I won't keep you waiting. There is still much to be discussed about the Transylvania assignment, and Cardinal Jinette had charged me with collecting all the information from the case, including any statements you or I might have."

As they walked from the Square, Van Helsing frowned. "Jinette assigned _you_ as a clerk? Keeping records isn't exactly in your job description."

"And the Lord knows I tried to tell him that, but he insisted that it would be easiest –and wisest– if we kept this matter as discreet as possible, even amongst our own."

"Hn. That's odd."

Carl adjusted the heavy satchel that was slung over his shoulder, undoubtedly containing the papers regarding their most recent mission.

"I was hoping to get it out of the way as soon as possible, because I'll go blind with insanity if I'm forced to deal with paperwork while commissions are piling up on my workbench," he said. "And the Cardinal plans to have you back in the saddle as soon as possible. A few incidents arose while we were in Romania and he's been postponing them, waiting for when you feel ready to take them on."

Van Helsing's eyes turned towards the sky briefly. "Is anybody else working up there, or do I have to do everything on my own?"

"I'm sorry?" Carl asked.

"Nothing. Just blaspheming to myself."

"Now now, just leave the going-mad business to me, that's more my _forte_ anyway. Besides, it wouldn't do at all to have our best agent losing his marbles."

"Is that what they're calling me now? 'Agent'?" Van Helsing inquired.

"No. It just sounds more professional than 'monster hunter', don't you think?"

† † †

Nothing was quite so effective when it came to instilling a great appreciation for coming home to a place like Italy as a freshly-baked _Pizza Napoletana_ and a half dozen _valigette _from the little outdoor restaurant on the corner. Carl tried to resist Van Helsing's prompting to join him at first, but for a man of the cloth he was incredibly vulnerable when it came to abstaining from worldly indulgences. Only after Van Helsing assured him it was pure charity did the friar relent; they sat together at a small iron table under the shade of an awning, poring over papers between bites of Italian cuisine and trying to keep from slopping too much sauce and meat drippings all over the documents, which was nearly impossible due to Van Helsing's gusto.

"You weren't joking about being ravenous, were you?" Carl gawped. "I've studied physics, and right now you're defying the properties of spatial displacement."

"Sounds riveting. You'll have to explain them to me one day."

"You'll be dead of boredom after the first ten minutes."

"Why Carl, I'm offended," Van Helsing said with mock-indignation. "I'm not one to die that easily."

"So I've noticed, thank God for that."

"At the most I'll be comatose after the first ten, but death would come much, much later," he added with a sly grin.

Carl narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly. "You're in an awfully good mood."

"What reason do I have not to be?"

"I don't know. I suppose I." He tried for the right words. "Just expected you to be more… _solemn_ after the ordeal that we- you've just been through. You can't tell me that that hasn't been the most difficult mission yet—I've read the record books and listened to you ramble on about horrific escapades all the time down in the lab. I just don't understand how can you remain so unaffected by it."

Van Helsing nodded sincerely. "I understand what you're saying, Carl, but it's not quite as easy as that, I'm afraid. It may seem as if I blind myself to the dangers I encounter, but just because something is out of sight doesn't always mean it's out of mind; I dwell on it all only long enough to be thankful that it's over, and then I move on. Life is all about moving forward and leaving behind the ghosts of an awful event. One cannot live in the present with their mind still in the past."

"That's easy for you to say. You _have_ no past." Carl caught his breath suddenly and looked ashamed. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"No, you're right. It's the truth. I suppose that's why this job suits me so well; I'm able to witness the nightmares of humanity and bear their weight upon my shoulders, then throw off the yoke at the end of the day."

The young friar absently fingered a paper's corner, staring at the table deliberately. "Some would call that a gift."

"Perhaps," Van Helsing admitted, "but I've learned in my time working with the Holy Order that anything of great importance is never given freely, including talent."

Carl nodded thoughtfully. "You know, I've often wondered what kind of man you would be if you weren't with the Church. Er, not to sound fawning or anything, but of all our field men, you're the one most revered."

"And the most reprimanded, don't forget."

"But don't you see? That's why everyone likes you, even if we sometimes wonder whether or not you're actually human. You really seem bigger than life, especially to all of us labouratory rats who hardly dare to leave our beakers."

Van Helsing smiled despite himself and shook his head modestly. "Ah, Carl," he sighed. "I deal with dire situations the same way as any other man, though my methods of expressing them are perhaps a little different. But I _am_ human—I feel pain and fear and sorrow and love and joy, just like everyone else on this earth. I am no more special than you are."

The friar arched an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?"

"What do you think, Newton?"

Carl smiled. Van Helsing smiled back.

† † †

He left for northern Europe two days later, once he had been briefed by Jinette concerning a demonic disturbance somewhere in Denmark. It was more of an investigative assignment rather than the typical seek-and-destroy mission, and he was to report his findings (if any) and handle the matter in accordance with the Church's stipulations, though the latter was considered negligible by Van Helsing's terms. If hunting monsters and/or maniacal men had a scale of 1 to 10, this job would probably rank a 4 at best.

Carl missed his chance to see him off, being rather occupied with the Buddhist monks' experiments in the pyrotechnic division elsewhere in the subterranean labouratory. He had been disappointed at first, but confided in the fact that he would see Van Helsing again once the assignment was over. However, even these hopeful thoughts and silent prayers could not stave off the invasive coldness from the young friar's spirit, nor quell that trembling feeling of anxiety whenever he reminded himself that Van Helsing –protector of the innocent and defender of the weak– was travelling farther and farther away.

It was an accidental sort of co-dependence, most likely brought on by the recent life-and-death situation they had endured on their last venture; Carl himself failed to notice the reasons behind this newly-developed behaviour of his, but he was a deep thinker, one who was occupied with straining details and intensely scrutinising the most minor elements, and it wasn't a rare occasion if he found himself overlooking the forest for the trees. The fact of the matter was that he missed Van Helsing, or more precisely, he missed the safety and peace of mind he felt when the huntsman was around. So long as he was present, no creature that lurks in the shadow of God would dare lay harm to those protected by that legendary Left Hand.

And Carl also happened to be a Class A worrier to the nth power. No matter how certain something was, he could always propose a deviation –and a logical one at that– which upset the stability of even the most meticulous project. Every worker in the lab knew about the 'Carl Variable', and that was one of the reasons the young friar was allowed access to potentially lethal and sometimes highly volatile chemicals; for as scatterbrained as he looked, Carl was tenacious, dedicated, thorough, and the cardinals knew they could trust him not to blow the entire facility straight to Kingdom Come, even if he was the cause of several small explosions from time to time.

It was only natural that Carl would worry about Van Helsing, especially after witnessing the hunter almost fall to the very powers he fought against. But he kept his thoughts to himself, and kept his brain occupied with chemistry and mechanical sciences, and in the meantime he worried and wondered and prayed.

And he waited for his friend to return.

_To Be Continued in Chapter II_

º _Ave mane_- a quite literal translation of _good morning_ in Latin, though my knowledge of 19th century dialect regarding this language is astoundingly limited. Any and all errors to be expected, please pardon.


	2. Chapter II

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**II.**

An attractive Danish woman, dressed completely in black with a veil shrouding her face, sat in silence with her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her eyes still red-rimmed and swollen from crying. The rosy blush that would have ordinarily graced her smiling face was stolen, replaced with a sickly pallour. Her lips were pulled thin and looked bruised from nervous chewing, but most disturbingly of all, her eyes were listless and dull, as if her very soul had been drawn from her body and extinguished like a candle's delicate flame.

A heavyset, grey-mustachioed doctor leaned forward in his chair with a creak. "Ms Vestergaard," he said gently, "Mr Van Helsing has come from the Holy City in Rome to offer his services and expertise in this matter, and to find justice for those who were not as fortunate as yourself. He is a specialist in this sort of… paranormal activity. Please, tell him everything you know. He is here to help you."

The woman swallowed dryly and gazed up at Gabriel van Helsing, sitting with great discomfort across from her. It was not so much the chair that was the cause of his unease, but the heinous acts of which this lovely lady was about to speak.

"My… name is Sølvye Vestergaard," she said in a soft, halting voice. "And I am the only survivor of the fourteen rapes committed by the Incubus of Gothen."

† † †

Early that evening the doctor paid a visit to the inn where Van Helsing was staying, and found the hunter in the midst of what appeared to be battle preparations; the contents of his bags were laid out in precise order on the bed, though Van Helsing was more preoccupied with double-checking his various close-combat weapons that he kept on his person at all times.

"Are you certain this is quite necessary?" Dr Kjeldsen asked warily, staring at the strange gadgets. "Not that I doubt Ms Vestergaard's case, but assuming that these incidents were performed by a madman instead of a demon as she claims, wouldn't it be wiser to focus upon a group of potential victims instead of one individual?"

"Sølvye has been extremely fortunate, doctor," Van Helsing said flatly. "She has survived an incident that should have left her dead, and the fact that she is still alive places her in severe danger. When a person has fallen victim to an incubus –or their female counterpart, a succubus– the creature will feed on that person's soul until their spiritual body can no longer support their physical one, eventually killing them. Tormenting them through violent acts such as rape essentially sends the soul fleeing from its body, making these feedings fast and successful.

"This particular creature has failed to complete its task, and will be back to finish the job; I'm going to set up a vigil on the Vestergaard residence tonight. Incubi are nocturnal, and if it's overcast there's a good chance I'll catch him."

"How is this?"

"Clouds that cover the moon make the night darker, easier to escape notice, fewer witnesses. They manipulate shadows to their advantage; demons of this nature prefer the darkest environment they can get."

Dr Kjeldsen's expression was so puzzled it was almost comical. "Just out of curiosity, Mr Van Helsing, have you ever heard of this 'Incubus of Gothen'?"

"Not specifically, but I don't doubt the presence of evil manifestations. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that, well, Ms Vestergaard displays all the characteristics of a rape victim," Dr Kjeldsen said with a shake of his head, "yet there wasn't a sign of any actual intercourse to be found when I examined her."

"That's how incubi work," Van Helsing muttered as he rifled through another arms bag. "They assault their victims without leaving a mark, and the story loses its credibility. Sexual demons commit these atrocities more for the emotional torture that it leaves behind rather than any physical pleasure. They're nasty monsters to deal with—difficult to catch and very, very fast. But if this thing is truly what I believe it is, I will do all I must to get rid of it."

The doctor stared as the hunter pulled a vial of thick, greenish-gold liquid out of his bag and slipped it into a holster on his belt.

"What is that?"

The hunter nearly smiled. "Authentic Italian virgin olive oil, grown from the blessed soil of Rome herself. Used mainly for annunciations, and it goes quite well with baptismal water." He strapped another vial of clear liquid to his belt and put his hat on, looking as if he were ready to leave.

"Is that all you're taking?" Kjeldsen burbled. "Why not carry a pistol or a rapier at least?"

"Mortal weapons are of no use when demons are involved," said Van Helsing. "This creature cannot be killed… but it _can_ be saved."

"I beg your pardon?"

Van Helsing glanced out of the window at the thin streaks of cloud beginning to move over the rising moon before returning his gaze to the Danish doctor.

"Some lucky demon is going to find Jesus tonight whether he wants to or not."

† † †

Lanterns and candles could be seen on every available surface at the home of Sølvye Vestergaard; mantles, tables, bureaus, chairs, even along the stair railing. The woman's bedroom alone was a lighthouse, cluttered with candelabras and boasting a floor covered in nearly half an inch of melted wax in some places.

"I can never sleep in the dark again," she had said after a few astounded looks from Van Helsing.

"So I see," he replied slowly, gazing around the room. "I'll be glad to take this fire hazard off of your hands, Ms Vestergaard, but I first need your assistance."

"Anything to help," she said firmly. "I am already indebted to you for travelling this far on our behalf."

"Our?"

"Yes, Mr Van Helsing—mine and the thirteen other women's whose lives the Gothen Incubus has claimed."

The young lady looked so mournful and yet so thankful that the hunter's heart went heedlessly out to her, and he placed a gentle hand upon her arm.

"You will not fear the dark after this night, Sølvye. I swear it."

She smiled vaguely, perhaps regaining a bit of light to her otherwise gloomy countenance, and nodded once. "What would you have me do?"

Van Helsing's expression was grim. "You must go to bed without a single candle lit."

"But-! Whatever f-"

"Light drives the creature away, but darkness attracts it. You will go about your usual routine and do nothing to make it suspicious. I will be waiting for it when it arrives. Have courage. I'll be with you." Van Helsing placed a silver crucifix in the woman's hand and closed her fingers around it. "And so will He."

† † †

The house was dark and quiet, save for the tick-tock of the large grandfather clock in the downstairs parlour that chimed out each hour with an almost ominous knell. The wind swept by outside, drawing an impenetrable blanket of cloud over the already diminished celestial lights, and causing the bare twigs of trees to tickle the windowpanes with humourless repetition.

Van Helsing could understand any woman being afraid to sleep in a house such as this, let alone with no lights, let alone with a predatory demon out to kill her. Even he couldn't seem to shake the eerie feeling of discord settling in the pit of his stomach.

He quietly paced the long hallway outside Sølvye's bedchambers, sometimes pausing and standing still for a long while, listening. Occasionally he would dare the creaking stairwell to check the rooms below, yet always returning quickly for fear of something happening while he was away. He would peer into Sølvye's room through the door every now and again to make certain that she was all right. He doubted she had yet to close her eyes.

Shortly after the clock tolled two, their guest arrived.

Van Helsing first spotted the shadows from Sølvye's bedroom window as they moved slowly, almost imperceptibly, across the wall and towards the bed. Like the flow of a sludgy, poisonous liquid did the darkness creep, forming itself into shapes and silhouettes of some ungodly realm that inspired nothing but heart-stopping fear.

Van Helsing watched from around the corner of the door, holding his breath, as the shadow began to melt its way down the headboard, onto the pillows, and cover the trembling, terror-stricken woman. Its form began to change slowly, its limbs and features gradually becoming more human, until finally the creature resembled a man, straddling Sølvye's body and pinning her to the bed.

"Hello, love," he whispered in a chilling, backwards breath that was anything but affectionate. "What shall you offer me tonight?"

Shutting her eyes, Sølvye took the cross she had been clutching tightly to her breast and stabbed its end into the demon. An unearthly shriek filled the room and the woman wrenched herself out from underneath her attacker, toppling from the bed; the incubus crashed to the floor and extracted the crucifix from his bare chest, snarling with hostility.

"_You_," he hissed, irises flashing crimson as his countenance twisted into an expression of disbelief. "You accursed whore. How could you do this to me!"

Sølvye let out a frail scream as the incubus prepared to lunge and was abruptly halted as a swath of lamplight fell across his pale skin—he shrilled in agony and recoiled.

Van Helsing stood with the lantern held aloft as the demon scrabbled his way into the shadows once more. "Sølvye! More light, hurry!"

She sprang to her feet and quickly began to light candles as fast as she could, her hands shaking so badly that she could hardly steady them to strike a match. The incubus howled in rage and fled around the room in its shadowy form as more and more of its darkness began to disappear. Van Helsing continued to jab his lantern in the creature's direction, keeping it from escaping to the window or door.

Finally, with only a small patch of dimness remaining in the corner beside a chest of drawers, the incubus was subdued. Growling weakly, its form metamorphosed once more into that of a man, clad entirely in black, loosely-fitted garments. His hair was dark, his skin pale, and his eyes the unholy hue of Hell's malignant flames. He would have been handsome if it weren't for the aura of complete wickedness radiating from his being like a poisonous fog.

Van Helsing bade Sølvye to leave the room and lock the door behind her, which she gratefully did. The hunter then placed the lantern on the bureau and knelt down to eye-level with the cowering fiend.

"Are you the Incubus of Gothen?" he demanded.

The demon bared his sharp teeth and hissed, squeezing himself tighter against the bureau when he saw the religious talismans dangling from Van Helsing's pocket watch chain.

"In the name of God, I command you to tell me," Van Helsing threatened, inching forward.

"The Incubus of Gothen is I," the creature seethed in its heavy Nordic accent, smiling harshly. "Though I am known by my servants as Svoren Gauth."

"Where did you come from? How long have you existed?"

"I have been here since the time of the Geats and the Goths, the Norsemen and the Vikings," he rasped. "They unleashed me upon the land through their wicked deeds, and every hundred years I rise from the soil of the earth that they drenched with innocent blood, and carry on their legacy."

"And whom is it that you serve?"

"Your Lord's greatest enemy," Svoren chuckled darkly.

Van Helsing clenched his teeth.

"And whom are _you_, clever human, to have been the first to trap me in ten centuries?"

"My name is Gabriel van Helsing, in service to the Knights of the Holy Order of Rome. I have been sent here to destroy you."

Svoren began to laugh hideously, causing the hunter's temper to flare.

"Would you like to share with me what you find so funny?"

"She sent for you to kill me, didn't she? Ah, Sølvye, you cunning bitch. I should have known." He shook his head as if accepting the inevitable, still grinning widely. "I have heard of you, Van Helsing," the incubus said less fearfully now. "Slayer of monsters, werewolves, and most recently, the Lord Dracula." He narrowed his red eyes and frowned. "My master was not pleased."

"I don't give a damn what your master thinks," Van Helsing snapped, reaching for the annunciation oil.

The incubus acted with incredible swiftness, grabbing Van Helsing by the collar of his overcoat and pulling him face to face. "You are not being fair, tricking and cornering me like this," Svoren uttered menacingly.

"Neither are you, attacking helpless women in their sleep."

"I always knew it would catch up to me someday, but I never anticipated that you would be the one to bring me to meet my end. What do you say, Gabriel? Shall we see if you can actually do it?"

Before Van Helsing could open his mouth, the incubus turned into a liquid shadow and sank between the cracks in the floorboards, dragging the man with him. Timbers and planks splintered as Van Helsing was pulled wholly through the floor and crashed into the pitch darkness of the room below. Not even the light filtering through the jagged hole in the ceiling could cut through the inky blackness.

Van Helsing crawled to his feet and stood blindly. He could hear sounds like a faint breeze rushing about the room in a steady, circular motion. He drew both vials of holy liquid from his belt and held them like pistols, blinking rapidly and waiting for his eyes to adjust—but they didn't.

"You're a coward, Svoren!" he shouted.

"And you are a fool," came the airy whisper. "I would say that we are evenly matched."

"At least I'm not hiding in the shadows."

"At least I am not _afraid_ of the shadows."

Van Helsing was suddenly struck from behind and sent toppling forward; both vials went flying from his hands and landed somewhere on the floor. He raised himself onto his hands and knees and began to frantically grope for them, then let out a grunt as something heavy collided on top of him with the sound of splitting wood. It felt like a table, but it could have easily been a chair or some other heavy piece of furniture. For a moment he regained his sight, but all he saw was starbursts of pain.

The incubus laughed at the sport as Van Helsing lay stunned and blind on the floor, and then suddenly the echoes faded away. Van Helsing groggily rolled over onto his back in time to feel an icy cold blanket of death unfold over him. He knew it was the demon. His teeth began to chatter as a frigidness like no other seeped into his body and slowly began to paralyse it.

"That's it," Svoren's voice whispered in his ear. "Relax, Gabriel. I'll be gentle."

"I thought your preference was for young women," Van Helsing grunted, trying to remain conscious as he felt the frosty embrace begin to melt into his head.

"I am known to make exceptions," came the playful remark. "Of course, you already know about that, don't you, O Most Revered Of All Our Field Men?"

Van Helsing's heart nearly stopped.

"Hmm, do tell me about your little English church boy," Svoren murmured, "the friar. Why is he so prominent in this part of your mind?"

"What… part?"

"This part here-" A stabbing pain like a thousand needles pierced deep inside Van Helsing's brain. "-the record book of all that you love."

"Get-! Out of my head!"

The incubus chuckled. "I'm afraid I can't, Gabriel. Your thoughts are very interesting to me, so elusive and guarded. I find it much more satisfying raping minds rather than flesh; I find out all the dirty secrets, the sick fantasies, the… sacrilegious desires."

The voice became husky and low. "Just between us boys, how jealous were you when he told you that he lost his virginity to a complete stranger? Did it make you angry, Gabriel? Did you want to be his first? Did you want to sink your cock into him like a stake and hear him scream your name? Did you?"

A red fire of fury and hatred had begun to burn somewhere in the core of Van Helsing's being, and when he heard that repulsive demon speak so foully of the young man whose friendship Van Helsing cherished with all his heart, something in his head snapped.

Svoren let out a choke and stopped laughing. "What is this? There is… something wrong with your mind. There is a presence... it should not be here. Y-you can't be-!"

Van Helsing let out a roar that seemed to come from the soles of his feet, and it burst from his throat like a torrent of thunder. His eyes shot open and he could suddenly see everything around him: a living room in disarray, the remains of a broken coffee table nearby, the vials lying on the other side of the room, the astounded-looking incubus on top of him.

He grabbed Svoren by the throat and threw him off as if he were weightless. Van Helsing was on his feet before the demon had even recovered from his landing, and sprang for the vials. The incubus screeched in dismay and liquefied, shooting across the room in time to send the bottles sailing away from Van Helsing's grasp.

The angry hunter instead grabbed at the shadow and sank his fingers into the dark matter. It materialised under his hands, became solid once more, and then something hard struck his face. The blow sent Van Helsing crashing down onto his back, but he recovered quickly—it had hardly felt like anything. He was standing again within seconds and facing off with the incubus.

"How are you doing this?" Svoren spat venomously. "No man can see in the dark. Who are you? _What_ are you!"

The raw rage Van Helsing was experiencing clouded his rational mind, and in that moment he forgot about his weapons and was filled only with the desire to tear the demon's body apart with his bare fists. He leapt with inhuman swiftness and collided with Svoren, and then the fight truly began.

The two opponents tore at each other passionately, rolling across the floor, kicking, biting, scratching, clawing, snarling like two tigers engaged in a death battle. They defied gravity, pulling one another up the walls and clinging to the ceiling, all the while screaming, cursing, and howling.

Van Helsing was unable to tell just how long the brawl lasted, but towards the end he realised that even the fervour of his ire could not best the incubus' unholy powers.

"_Judica me, Deus_," he spoke under his breath as he struggled to subdue his enemy. "_Do me justice, O God, and fight my fight against unholy people_. _Rescue me from the wicked and deceitful man_..."

Svoren smiled evilly at the prayer and lifted Van Helsing off the floor by his shoulders, then threw him into the opposite wall. The hunter very nearly went through; with a terrific crash the wall crumpled against his weight, and he slid to the floor in a half-conscious daze amongst the rubble.

"_Quia tu es, Deus, fortitudo mea_," he choked. "_For thou art my strength, O God…_"

He heard Svoren's footsteps as he approached, and then Van Helsing was dragged by the collar to his feet, where he was held eye to eye with the glowering demon.

"Do you wish to beg any final pleas to your deaf Lord before I end your life?" he asked.

Van Helsing, bleeding from a deep wound to his temple, replied, "Just one."

The incubus bared his sharp teeth.

The hunter closed his eyes. "_Misereatur tui omnipotens Deus._" He opened them once more. "_May almighty God have mercy on you_." And with that, he placed his oil-soaked hand directly upon the demon's forehead.

A scream like no other rent the air, for unbeknownst to Svoren, Van Helsing had obtained the annunciation vial during the fray and only moments before drenched his entire hand in it.

"_Asperges tu_," he recited, "_And thou shalt be sprinkled, and thou shalt be cleansed. Thou shalt be washed of sin and made whiter than snow_."

The incubus began to tremble violently and foam at the mouth, his red eyes rolling back into his head. The pale flesh beneath Van Helsing's hand began to hiss and smoke, and suddenly it burst into flame. He pulled away and watched the creature writhe within the fire, howling and screaming. His form began to contort and melt, slowly oozing to the floor.

Van Helsing observed dispassionately as the demon died before him. "_Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto_," he said, crossing himself. "_As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be_."

The fire grew smaller and smaller until at last it died away, leaving behind nothing more than a pile of black ash. The rug was not even scorched.

"_Requiescat in pace_."

Van Helsing heaved a sigh and allowed his shoulders to sag in relief. He gingerly touched the wound to his temple and grimaced slightly as it stung. He turned around in search of his hat and was momentarily surprised as the door to the main hall opened; in its threshold stood Sølvye, still in her dressing gown.

"The Incubus of Gothen is dead, Ms Vestergaard," said Van Helsing resolutely. "You have nothing to fear."

She stepped carefully into the wrecked living room, her eyes fixed upon the ashes at the hunter's feet. "Are you absolutely certain?" she whispered warily.

"Upon my soul."

She looked up at her rescuer and smiled smugly. "Good. I never liked him much, anyway."

Van Helsing frowned, wondering how odd her comment was when he suddenly realised that it was still pitch black in the room, that he could see in the dark, and that Sølvye carried no candle.

The woman's grin widened when she saw the look of revelation pass over Van Helsing's features, and when she blinked, her eyes glowed red.

"You're a succubus," he uttered, taking a step back.

"Svoren was my brother," she said in a velvet voice, her appearance melting from that of a meek young woman to a beautiful seductress, her clothes darkening into robes of ebony black. "He was always taking more credit than he deserved. He was an ignorant fool to have been so blind to my treachery, but now I shall be taking his place as the true demon of Gothen." She cocked her head playfully. "Unless, of course, you think you can kill me. I will warn you, though, my powers are much greater than those of my brother."

Van Helsing took another step back, knowing that he was already too weakened from his previous fight to face another demon.

"What's the matter, Gabriel? You aren't afraid of me, are you?" Sølvye teased as she strolled forwards. "I see that you have power… and quite a temper. I admire those qualities. Perhaps we can negotiate, you and I. Make an agreement, settle this like civilised murderers..."

"Never," Van Helsing growled.

The succubus pouted. "I'm sorry you feel that way. What a shame."

He didn't see the dagger in her hand until it was already on its way to his heart, and he knew with dawning remorse that he would not be swift enough to block it.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of peace, and then he felt the steel blade as it slid through leather, wool, skin, flesh, blood, muscle, and lodge into its destination. His heart made a startled _pop_ as it was pierced, and a breathless gasp escaped Van Helsing's lips. He stared expressionlessly at the smiling succubus as she leaned close to him and whispered in the last words he remembered hearing, "_Requiescat in pace, _Gabriel van Helsing."

_To Be Continued in Chapter III_


	3. Chapter III

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**III.**

It had been nearly three weeks when Carl was pulled from his mid-afternoon research in the library by a very solemn-looking Jinette. "My office," said the Cardinal. "Now."

The friar felt suddenly sick when he heard the tone in his superiour's voice, but followed obediently, albeit reluctantly.

"Shut the doors," bade Jinette once they were inside, and Carl did so.

"Is something the matter, Your Grace?" he asked worriedly. "Have I done anything wrong? Listen, if this is about that incident with the gunpowder and glycerine a few days ago, I've got a perfectly good explanation for the whole fiasco-"

"Carl."

"-Jiro swore that that compound was stable, and Kyo and Shin acted quickly enough so that only the four of us got hives-"

"Carl."

"-and I've been very good about the chemical fires, too. There hasn't been an accident involving nitrocellulose in nearly a week, and you can't say _that_ hasn't been a miracle of-"

"CARL."

"-yes?"

Jinette turned to the side. "You should probably sit down."

"Why? Is there something wrong with my legs?"

"SIT DOWN, CARL."

"Rightyesofcourseyourgrace." The friar sat in the chair facing Jinette's desk and threaded his fingers together.

The Cardinal looked down at his young ward's face for a moment before sighing heavily and producing a creased letter from his _mozzetta_. He did not open it, but held it in his hands as if it were a sacred vessel. Carl stared at it anxiously.

"I received this from the courier this morning," he said gravely. "It bore a Copenhagen postmark." He lowered his head. "Van Helsing has been missing since Thursday the seventh. We have not received a telegraph from him since he arrived in Denmark, and that was nearly a month ago."

Carl blinked but looked unaltered by the news.

"We have heard nothing from our contact, Dr Pedar Kjeldsen. Investigators checked the medical records for a licence but found none. Such a man never existed. Van Helsing's last known whereabouts was the Vestergaard estate in Frederiksborg; the house has sat empty for the past twelve years, but the local police saw lights in the windows a few weeks ago. A search of the premises the following day revealed fresh blood inside the house, and a dagger that was stained to the hilt." Jinette shook his head woefully. "I fear we have delivered Van Helsing into a trap."

Carl had begun to breathe quickly, but otherwise he appeared devoid of emotion. He adjusted his weight in the chair and said in a detached tone, "They haven't found a body, have they."

"No," said the Cardinal.

For a moment the friar looked immensely relieved, until Jinette reached under his desk and removed something that turned Carl's blood to ice:

Van Helsing's hat.

"They found this in a blood-spattered room. No one knew what to do with it so it was sent back with the letter."

The elder man gently delivered the hat into waiting hands. Carl stared at it in silence for a long time, his thumbs gently rubbing over the worn leather. He began to blink rapidly and swallow as he attempted to remain composed.

Jinette sat down heavily in his chair and began to massage the bridge of his nose. "The priests and other clergy have organised a prayer vigil for this evening."

Carl raised his head. "I won't be there."

The Cardinal looked taken aback. "Why not?" he demanded.

The young friar stood to his feet, clutching the hat in a white-knuckled grasp. "He doesn't need my prayers. He's still alive."

"Carl…"

"_I will not pray for him_!" he yelled suddenly, and Jinette could see the anger and desperation burning in his blue eyes. "Until his corpse is shown to me, I won't believe what anyone says. He's coming back. And I'll be waiting for him when he does."

Showing a complete lack of respect, Carl turned on his heel and stormed out of the Cardinal's office with a defiant –but anguished– air. Jinette sighed and leaned back in his chair; he didn't have the heart to reprimand the distraught friar at this point. The young man needed time and space to deal with the matter, and Jinette was willing to grant him this until he had come to terms with the loss.

† † †

"What is troubling Friar Carl?"

"I don't know. I've never seem him so perturbed."

"He hasn't spoken a word for the past three days."

"Do you think he might be ill?"

"Can't be. Why would he be working in the lab if he were ill?"

"Well he looks ill to me. Pale as a ghost."

"He's been acting like a completely different person; I've never seen him in such a way before."

"He hasn't smiled in ages."

"_Oi vai_, the poor fellow. He should be in the infirmary."

"You should say something to him, Aaron."

"Why me? You're the one who brought up the topic."

"Well you're the one who's so worried about him."

"Be quiet, Joseph, we're all worried about him."

"It's really none of our business, Daniel."

"Well _some_body ought to say something. I'm getting depressed just looking at him."

"My heart weeps with pity for you."

"Oh do be quiet, won't you?"

"That does it—I'm going to go talk to him. Gentlemen, if you would excuse me."

The young _chazzan_º named Daniel stood from his bench, abandoning his task of translating ancient Hebrew scrolls with his fellow clergymen, and made his way towards the cluttered lab table where sat Carl. The blond was lethargically poking at the copper wiring in a small electrical circuit and trying to look busy while exerting as little energy as he possibly could.

Daniel stood behind him for a little while and watched the futile tinkering before finally resting a consoling hand on Carl's shoulder. The reaction was unexpected: there was a sharp hiss of breath as if the touch had caused excruciating pain, and Carl turned on his stool to get the hand off of his body.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you there."

Pause. Carl kept his head bowed and said nothing.

"Why the long face, friar?" Daniel asked gently. "I couldn't help but notice that you've been awfully quiet lately. Some of us are starting to –mind if I sit here? – worry about you. Is there anything going on that you'd like to talk about?"

Carl slowly turned his face towards Daniel, who caught his breath when he saw the state of emotional decay in which his colleague was undoubtedly being smothered: the blue eyes that had once been sparkling and energetic were now dull and languid, and dark rings spoke clearly of too many sleepless nights. His face was blanched as if he had received a fright days ago that had never left him, and he moved with such listless lack of animation that Daniel entertained little hope that whatever had stricken the friar was not life-threatening.

"_Got in Himmel_ºº, Carl!" he exclaimed. "Have you seen yourself? You look disastrous. You should see a physician right away. Come, I'll take you myself-"

"I'm all right, Dan," Carl said in a poor attempt to sound chipper. "Besides, there's nothing the physician could prescribe to make me well."

Daniel narrowed his brown eyes concernedly. "What are you talking about? I've seen cadavers in better shape than you, and if you've looked in a mirror recently you'd agree with me—now postpone whatever it is you're doing and I'll take you down to the infirmary."

Carl shook his head and absently placed a hand to his chest. "There's nothing wrong with my body. It…" He trailed off, his fingers latching into the folds of his tunic.

Daniel understood. "It's something inside, isn't it. Your heart is hurting you. _Ai, Got_, and it's hurting you badly. Carl, I nev-… what is this about? Van Helsing's disappearance?"

The friar didn't answer, but his eyes seemed to become even more hollow at the mention of the name.

"Does this have to do with why you were absent during vigil? We're all praying for him, you know. Every one of us. You can't lost faith this-"

"I haven't," Carl interrupted hoarsely.

"Then what's troubling you?"

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then silence stole his breath and something else caused his eyes to shine glassily with unshed tears. He slowly turned his shoulder to Daniel and sat hunched on his wooden stool.

"…Carl?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," came the barely audible whisper. "Thank you for your concern."

Daniel looked hurt. "You know it's… well. You know where to find me if you need to borrow an ear."

The back of Carl's head nodded slightly in acknowledgement, and Daniel reluctantly left him alone at the lab table.

† † †

Even the long, meaningless days of waiting were to be envied when the sun sank behind the western walls of the city and unforgiving night descended over the Vatican; night with its cold embrace and ominous silence, its foreboding shadows that brought to life fears which lay quietly still during the day. Night, with its single restless eye hanging aloft in the heavens, ever watching, ever menacing, blinking but once every twenty-eight days as it wound its familiar circle about the Earth; night that had once been welcomed, now feared; sleep that had once been embraced, now shunned. There was no peace to be found anywhere, save in Death's eternal slumber.

Carl carried no candle with him as he walked the corridors of the abbey barracks where knights, scholars, scientists and other members of the Holy Order sometimes retreated at the end of the day. He did not wish to be seen as he crept quietly into Van Helsing's chamber and shut the door behind him.

The room had been untouched since their arrival from Romania. As he made his way towards the bed, Carl looked at the medley of chests, rolled charts and weapons cases crowding the floor, and tried not to imagine the growth of cobwebs on their angles, the film of dust that would settle over the room as it sat empty year after year after year…

The friar crawled into Van Helsing's lonesome, vacant bed and buried his face into the shapeless pillow, breathing deeply. He could smell his hair, his skin, his unique scent.

Survivor. Friend. Protector. Strength. Safe. Home. Heart. Gabriel.

And for the fourth night in a row, Carl quietly dampened the pillow with his tears. No one would see him. No one would know about this unhealthy deviation. No one would see the truth. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

But the evil was still there.

_Maketh thyself blind, and deaf, and dumb; and still the Devil standeth before thee._

He slept between sobs, broken rest haunted by unwarranted nightmares that wrung despairing moans from his hæmorrhaging heart, and just before the pale dimness of dawn began to stain the sky, he would steal back to his own quarters. He would set the latch and remove his cowl, fold his tunic down to his waist, and kneel on the hard stone floor with his back bared, marred with angry red stripes from his previous sessions of self-inflicted punishment.

And he would bite a thick dowel of wood while he threw the nine-tailed lash across his shoulders, for sometimes it felt better to bleed than to weep. He punished the tears that had fallen, the thousand hundred he had sacrificed in the name of his loss, and bled a thousand hundred drops to atone for the sins of his selfishness. He punished the feelings of remorse he harboured, the longing, the woe, the desire, beating them from his flesh until they were banished from his mind.

There was comfort in the pain, for it meant that he was still alive. There was despair in the pain also, for it meant that he was still alive. But most of all, there was torment in the pain, and for a little while it succeeded in drowning the fire of anguish that was burning at the core of his heart.

The physical distraction of bodily pain was perhaps the only thing that kept Carl from going mad with grief, though he knew it would not be much longer before he ran out of blood to shed.

† † †

Two cardinals, dressed in their vestments of bright crimson, walked a leisurely pace down the hall of the Gallery of Maps in the Belvedere Courtyard, speaking to one another in low mumbles and mutterings. It was shortly after midday, though unusually dim; the skies bore heavy grey clouds that foretold an evening of rain and thunder, but the temper of the atmosphere was not the topic of their discussion.

"What have you heard from the Danes?" Cardinal Ruggero asked.

"Nothing," replied Cardinal Jinette, his expression sombre. "They have been forced to call off the investigation due to insufficient evidence. It is like the end of a sad tale: _and he disappeared without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again_."

Ruggero, a white-haired, barrel-chested man of sixty, sighed heavily and latched his hands behind his back, gazing up at the high ceiling. "We must pray for Van Helsing's return all the harder, then," he said simply.

"For how much longer?"

"As long as it takes."

Jinette paused before speaking again. "And what if he has already passed?"

Ruggero smiled sadly. "Then we must pray for an absolution."

They continued on for a little while in silence, and then the white-haired cardinal observed, "You have voiced many questions, Jinette."

"I am worried for Carl, Your Grace. He has not been well."

"Ah, Carl. He's the young engineer working the armoury division of the lab, correct? I have been meaning to ask about him—he's not yet professed the Solemn Vows, has he?"

"No," said Jinette. "I am uncertain as to whether or not he wishes to seek an ordained office once he is integrated into the brotherhood—he seems to be quite comfortable in his position under the Order's guidance. Quite an industrious young man, and a valuable asset."

Ruggero nodded absently. "I see. He accompanied Van Helsing on his last assignment, did he not?"

"He did."

"Ah."

Jinette seemed to hesitate before his next words: "He's very fond of Van Helsing, despite whatever differences they may have had in the beginning; Carl was barely out of his teens when Van Helsing was delivered to us, yet I think the challenge of keeping up with that man is what has moulded the boy into the brilliant mind he is today. They do make quite a pair when they work together, regardless of the destruction they may leave in their wake. Rather a reckless combination of clumsiness and brazen disregard for authority, but they usually manage to pull through in the end."

"Except this time."

Jinette lowered his head. "I'm beginning to fear for his life."

"Whose? Carl's or Van Helsing's?"

"Both. Ever since the Romania mission, wherever one goes the other is sure to follow. If Van Helsing is already deceased, Carl will not be far behind him." The Cardinal furrowed his brow in annoyance. "He refuses to pray for him, and every day he grows worse. He acts like a wholly different person now, and I have reason to suspect that he might also be flogging himself; I've seen what look like bloodstains on his clothes, but I could be wrong. This behaviour is unlike him. I don't know what to do anymore."

Ruggero turned to his old friend. "Sometimes there is nothing one can do but pray, and in most cases, that is all that is truly needed."

"Not this time," Jinette murmured. "It's going to take more than prayer to save these two lives."

"Their lives are and have always been in God's hands," said Ruggero confidently. "Trust that He will not let them slip through His fingers."

† † †

The _Encyclopædia of Chemistry_ was pulled from Carl's hands, and he looked up to see Daniel standing in front of him with a firm yet benevolent smile on his face.

"I was reading that," the friar muttered.

"No you weren't." Daniel slapped the heavy book shut. "You've been staring at the same page for the past half hour, and even a blind man can read faster than that. Come now, you haven't been out of the abbey all day and you should take in some fresh air before it starts to storm."

"I'm all right, Daniel."

"No you're not. You're going to go lab mad if you stay down here a moment longer, now get your _tokhes_ off of that stool and come with me to get some tea. Chen Li's brewed a few beakers of his famous red oolong and everyone is going to be begging for a cup."

"Ah. The tea of defeat. I take it that his Exorcising Elixir failed again?" Carl noted as he stood reluctantly to his feet and began to follow his Jewish companion.

"Yes, but not to worry—the smoke will clear in a few hours. And you have to admit, he does make the best cup of tea this side of the hemisphere," Daniel quipped good-naturedly. "It always helps him feel better after a failed experiment to do something that will bring people flocking back to him. Compensation for driving them away in the first place, I suppose."

"Hm," Carl murmured, nodding slightly.

Daniel took the friar's arm and guided him the rest of the way. They arrived just in time to claim a cup of the finest tea in Rome, then made their way up and out of the underground facility. They lingered down the front steps of the cathedral, sipping their tea in silence. The undoubtedly beautiful sunset was obscured by ponderous black clouds and the breeze that swept by time to time carried with it the scent of impending rain.

"Not exactly as cheerful weather as I'd hoped it to be," Daniel said, scanning the sky with dismay. "It's still a great deal better than being down there. Take a breath and clear the dust from your lungs, friar. You'll start to feel better in no time."

Carl stared down into the steaming tea in his cup and was suddenly consumed with a magnificent guilt; here was Daniel, doing his best to put him in good spirits again and going so far as to take time out of his busy day to entertain the dreary young fellow, but to what end? His efforts had done hardly a thing to lift the gloom from Carl's soul, and it made the friar feel even worse than he had before. It was almost bearable to stew in one's own pot, but when other people became involved and ended up wasting their time on a lost cause…

"Thank you, Daniel. I'm feeling better already," Carl lied in a hollow tone.

"Ah, what did I tell you? A breath of fresh air is indeed good medicine."

The blond feigned a smile and nodded as if he believed it. Then the two young men sat on the steps outside the church and drank their tea, watching the clouds build in the sky and become darker as the sun began to set. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and after a length of time in which neither spoke, Daniel stood to his feet with a small _oof_.

"Well," he said, "it might be a good idea to go inside now before it starts to pour."

"I think I'll stay out here a little while longer," said Carl. "I'd like to watch the rain come in."

Daniel shrugged. "Suit yourself. It's a little too cold out here for me. Promise me you won't sit out here and get soaked, _farshtaist_ººº?"

The friar half-grinned. "_Farshtaist_."

"Good. If I don't see you in the cupboard tonight I'll see you in the morning."

Carl waved forlornly as Daniel left him sitting on the steps and disappeared through the cathedral doors. Carl gazed out at the wide, empty plaza spread before him and sighed heavily. The people that usually peppered the Square this time of day had all retreated indoors by now; the breeze was blowing colder and a dense curtain of rain could be seen approaching from the far west.

Carl watched and drew his knees up to his chest, crossed his arms over them, hunching down in his usual posture and wincing in pain as the lash wounds on his back were pulled taut. He did not move to make himself more comfortable—he sat stiffly, watching the rain and waiting. He fully intended to break his promise, desiring nothing more than to have that frigid water spatter down upon his shoulders and soak him to the bone. Maybe he would develop a respiratory infection, and have an excuse to lie in his bed all day. Would God pardon his sloth for that, even if he intentionally brought the sickness upon himself? Probably not. And if the infection killed him, would it be considered suicide? Would he be sentenced to Purgatory?

Carl rested his cheek on his forearm. Purgatory would be a mercy; right now even Hell sounded good to him.

He must have fallen asleep somehow, for he dreamt that the sky saw his sorrow and took pity on him, crying tears of rain from the clouds above. He dreamt that the heavens knew his pain and moaned deeply in woe, sending rumbles of thunder down to the earth. He dreamt that the wind wrapped its arms around his body and embraced him, kissing his face until his flesh stung from the coldness.

He dreamt that Van Helsing returned, that he appeared far off on the other side of the Square, walking towards the church. Carl watched him approach and felt both happiness and sadness; happiness that he was able to see him one last time; sadness because it was only a dream, however wonderful it might be.

He dreamt that Van Helsing ascended the slippery granite steps and stood before him in the downpour, clothes soaked and hair hanging in wavy tendrils, gazing at the friar worriedly yet saying nothing.

Carl raised his head and looked at him, smiling sadly to himself. "This is either the kindest or the cruelest dream I've had," he thought aloud.

Van Helsing then kneeled down and placed his hands on the young man's shoulders. "This is no dream, Carl," he murmured, raindrops cascading down his face. "You are awake."

"Then I've died," he answered, "and so have you, because this must be the afterlife."

Van Helsing smiled gently, reached out to affectionately touch Carl's face… and then flicked his nose so hard that it brought tears of pain to the friar's eyes. He jumped back with a cry and held his smarting nose in his hands, blinking rapidly. The sleepy haze in his mind waned and everything became sharp with clarity—Van Helsing patted Carl's cheek with his bare, wet hand and took the time to brush the drenched blond hair off of his forehead.

"Believe me now, Newton?" he asked.

Carl's mouth hung open in shock for a few moments as he sought to remember how to use his tongue again. "You… you're-"

"Sorry," Van Helsing interrupted, his hazel eyes saturated with regret. "I am so very sorry."

Carl shut his mouth and sat very still. "I knew you'd come back," he whispered so softly it could scarcely be heard over the rain. "I didn't believe you were gone for one moment."

Van Helsing stared at him, reading his face and trying to size it up with the words that were just spoken; they didn't match at all. The hunter's expression softened as he took Carl's hands in his own and pulled him to his feet. Without another word, they walked up the steps while holding onto one another, it seemed, as if both their lives depended on it.

And the heavy wooden door closed behind two pairs of sopping footprints.

_To Be Continued in Chapter IV_

º _chazzan_- a Jewish cantor

ºº _Got in Himmel_- God in Heaven, Yiddish

ººº _farshtaist_- Understand, Yiddish


	4. Chapter IV

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**IV.**

"This way," Gabriel van Helsing said, steering Carl between the marble columns lining the cathedral's great sanctuary and leading him through one of the adjoining corridors.

"Wait—what about Cardinal Jinette?" the friar stammered. "You need to see him immediately. He'll be so-"

"Jinette is the last person I want to see right now," the hunter muttered, his grip firm on Carl's arm as they strode quickly down the winding stairway to the abbey barracks. "It's best if nobody knew I was here until morning, possibly even for a few days."

"Wha… but, but why?"

"I'll explain it all, I promise, but right now I need you."

Carl's heart began to pound. "M-me?"

"You are the only living person who knows the true details of the Transylvania assignment, and I'm not talking about the abridged version of the report that you sent to Jinette."

The friar gulped. "Yes, I… but what has this got to do with anything?"

Van Helsing gave him a reverent look. "Everything. By all accounts, Carl, I should be dead right now, and I need that clever brain of yours to help me figure out what is happening."

Carl nodded assuredly. "I'll try my best."

Van Helsing's face displayed a fleeting glimmer of appreciation. "That's all I could ever ask."

† † †

Van Helsing closed the door to his room and latched it while Carl went to light the oil lamps. The man turned around and shook himself vigourously, sending droplets of water flying all about before he began to peel off his drenched outer garments. He tossed them to the floor carelessly as the friar turned the wick key on a lamp, filling the room with a soft orange glow.

"There," he said. "That's bet- ah!"

He let out a startled cry when Van Helsing stepped close, took hold of the thin belt about his waist and removed it; Carl darted away and held the lantern protectively.

The hunter, clad in nought but his dark, thin pants, arched a curious eyebrow. "You're going to drown in those robes," he said concernedly. "You should remove them."

"I was getting to that," the friar insisted in a trembling, nervous tone. "I'm quite capable of undressing myself, thank you."

"I would feel badly if you fell ill."

"So would I. Here-" He handed the lamp to Van Helsing. "-light the other one and pick up your clothes. They'll never dry on the floor."

"Yes, mother."

While Van Helsing did as he was told, Carl retreated to a dim corner and reluctantly began to disrobe, taking much longer than was necessary and even going so far as to wring out his cowl and hang it from a shelf. His heart had yet to cease throbbing, and he stole glances across the room at Van Helsing from time to time. His head swam with dizziness when he realized that this was real, that it was truly happening, that Gabriel van Helsing was _alive_. He wanted nothing more than to spring off his feet and laugh madly in sheer jubilation, but Van Helsing looked deeply troubled and possibly even frightened, and bursting into a chronicle of guffaws probably wouldn't be the best idea at this point.

Carl stripped down to his linen undershirt and stocking pants, and timidly walked over to warm his cold hands by the lamp.

"You'll catch pneumonia in that freezing shirt," Van Helsing commented flatly, eyeing the wet garment.

"I'm n-not taking it off," he tried to say without shivering.

"You know, for a certifiable genius, you can be incredibly idiotic sometimes."

Carl refused to indulge the man's comment with a reply. Suddenly a wool blanket was draped about his shoulders, and he lifted his head to see Van Helsing looking at him strangely.

"Thank you," Carl murmured, pulling the blanket round his neck.

"You smell like blood."

The friar's breath hitched in his throat; he wanted to look the other way but Van Helsing's eyes held him riveted.

"Why do you smell like blood, Carl?"

He didn't respond.

"Do you have any open wounds?"

"N-no-"

"Did somebody hurt you?"

"Van Helsing!" Carl snapped, almost on the verge of laughing from the sheer insanity of the situation. "You've been missing and presumed dead for weeks, and right now I wan- I _need_ to know what happened." He frowned suddenly. "And how can you possibly smell blood on me? I'm soaked to the quick."

Van Helsing looked distinctly worried, and took a slow, deep breath. "Sit down and I'll tell you what I know."

Carl obediently sat on the edge of the bed and tried his best to pacify the butterflies in his stomach, gazing up at the man expectantly.

Van Helsing bowed his head in thought. "The Denmark mission was a setup; a succubus jealous of her brother's infamy lured me to Frederiksborg, posing as one of his victims. I fought the Incubus of Gothen, but I… don't remember how I defeated him. I do, however, remember the trap, the succubus, and the knife."

"Knife?"

"The one that she stabbed me with." Van Helsing stepped into the lamplight and placed his hand on a faint scar over his left breast. "I heard my own heart stop beating. I don't remember what happened after that."

Carl stood to his feet and moved close to examine the scar. "It's impossible," he murmured softly. "No wound should have healed this quickly, least of all a mortal one. How did… what… is there anything at _all_ that can you remember?"

"Running," Van Helsing answered distantly, eyes narrowed, as if trying to recall a dream from months passed. "Flashes of mountains, trees, grass… and the moon. Always the moon above me. It felt… felt as if it were pulling me in its direction, and I was chasing it, trying to catch it somehow. Dark blurs all around me, sweeping by, like I was almost flying, effortlessly."

He sat down on the bed and rubbed his face in a weary gesture. "When I finally came to my senses, I found myself standing in a village at the base of the Italian Alps. Two days later I was in Rome. And here I am now."

Van Helsing paused and glanced apologetically towards Carl. "I'm sorry. I don't think that was very much help."

"That doesn't matter right now," the young man insisted gently, sitting down on the mattress beside Van Helsing. "You're here with m- I mean, y-you're here and… and you're alive, and that's really all that mat-"

The hunter's hand was suddenly resting on Carl's knee, and he stopped mid-sentence.

"That's just it, Carl," Van Helsing uttered. "I am not certain if I am truly alive anymore."

The friar could scarcely draw a breath to respond for the pounding of his heart, but he somehow managed; he stared at the large but gentle hand as its warmth permeated through the wet cloth, and with his eyes shyly averted to the floor, whispered, "W-would you care to find out if you are?"

Van Helsing's brow knitted slightly in confusion. "How does one find out, exactly?"

"Oh, th-there are… ways," Carl said in a soft tremble, turning his face towards the man's but keeping his gaze askance.

"What ways?"

No answer.

"Carl. What ways."

He at last turned his limpid blue eyes to Van Helsing's own hazel ones; his face was bare and honest, yet as sad and empty as an abandoned church at dusk. It was joyous and grateful, but beset by anguish and afflicted by terror. There was a longing there that shouldn't have been, and Van Helsing saw it. But perhaps even more amazing was the fact that he _recognised_ it, that he had seen that look before on dozens of previous occasions, yet this was the first time he knew what it meant.

It stunned him. It snuck up on him and, like a bolt of lightening, delivered a shock that seized his very heart and electrified it; a heart that shuddered and gasped and began to beat as it had never beat before, surging blood throughout his entire body at such a speed it felt as if his arteries would ignite from the friction.

There could be no doubt about it—Gabriel van Helsing knew that he was alive.

And he knew that Carl was horribly in love with him.

The friar saw the light pass over Van Helsing's eyes, and in that moment he knew that he knew; he flung himself into the man's strong arms and embraced him tightly.

"I missed you," he choked, "and I'm ashamed. I'm _so_ ashamed, Van Helsing, I could die. I d-didn't mean for this to happen. I'm so sorry. It was an accident, I ne-never meant to… I didn't want you to know I-" A sob for air interrupted his sentence, and he said no more after that.

Van Helsing had fallen into a wordless trance, but he found himself wrapping his arms around his companion's shoulders through no cognizant accord of his own; it simply felt like the natural thing to do right now, as natural as it felt to press his cheek to the side of Carl's head and murmur in his ear, "Don't say anything else. It's going to be all right."

And then Van Helsing's eyes caught the bright red stain on the back of the friar's shirt, peering out from beneath the blanket. He knew then what had been done to cause such a wound, and immediately loosened his hold.

"So that's the price to pay for atonement," he said with a caustic undertone, pulling the blanket from Carl's shoulders. "Blood for sin? _Why_? How could you do this to yourself, Carl?"

He didn't answer, but slowly pulled away and wiped his face on his sleeve. He looked positively terrible.

"Is this some sadistic form of retribution?" Van Helsing demanded. "Is this how one deals with personal faults? By mutilating the body that God has given them, by disfiguring themselves to show their love for Him?"

"It wasn't my love for God that did this," Carl muttered, staring straight into auburn eyes. "I've had it coming for a long time, longer than you know. I thought… I thought it was just a phase. I was still very young when I met you, and I assumed it was simply the age. I thought I would grow out of it, but that never happened. I thought abstinence would help, but it didn't stop the dreams. I thought that sleeping with a woman would cure me, yet it did nothing but soil my conscience. I'm defective, Van Helsing. I'm deviant from what is natural. And if anyone finds out, if the _Cardinal_ finds out, I'm going to be sent away. And in just your brief disappearance, I realised that a life without you is a life I don't think I'd want to live."

He lowered his head and placed a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from Van Helsing's penetrating stare. "Having these thoughts… it frightens me more than any monster." And then his shoulders began to bob as he shed his tears in complete silence.

Van Helsing sighed helplessly, kneading his forehead as if it ached. "_Kyrie eleison_º. What am I going to do with you, Carl? This irrational behaviour—it isn't like you."

"I know," the friar admitted, raising his tear-stained face. "Love makes lunatics of us all."

† † †

Carl stayed with Van Helsing that night and slept in his bed, huddled against the man's body as if he were the only thing that could save his life. Van Helsing had not possessed the heart to send the friar back to his own quarters, knowing that Carl stood a better chance of regaining his wits if he had time to collect himself and be in the company of a friend. Van Helsing hoped it was simply a few week's worth of stress and anxiety unleashing itself instead of bona fide lovesickness; he had enough problems to grapple with right now, and tossing his closest confidant's ambiguous sexuality on top of the pile could quite possibly be the straw that broke the camel's back.

It made Van Helsing wonder, though. He began to question if he didn't feel the same way for Carl, if he didn't love him beyond the boundaries of their friendship. It caused him to dwell on the words that Svoren Gauth had uttered in his ear, filthy words that had made Van Helsing lose his mind with rage. Did that not prove something? Was that not indicative of his feelings for Carl? Did he attack the incubus because he had insulted a pure and beautiful thing, or was it because those dark and passionate words had been true?

It was enough reason for Van Helsing to begin doubting himself.

He gazed down at the young man asleep at his shoulder, and remembered the first time he had seen him. It seemed like both yesterday and ages ago. The years had lost their meaning now; from the arrogant, cocky nineteen year-old driven by sheer ambition to the collected, intelligent twenty five year-old with nothing but God keeping his brilliant mind from bursting apart at the seams—it was inconceivable that he had been keeping such a secret all this time, and that it had remained undetected until now.

In all his years of knowing Carl, Van Helsing suddenly realised, he had never truly _known_ him.

He raised his hand and very gently trailed his fingers across Carl's face, over the smooth arches of his eyebrows, along the delicate ridge of his golden eyelashes. Fingertips whispered a path from his cheekbone, following the curve of his face down to the soft stubble on his chin and then upwards to faintly caress the tender warmth of his lips, lingering before tracing the slope of the friar's handsome nose.

This was the face that Van Helsing had gazed upon a thousand times and yet never seen. This was the face that loved him.

He slowly reached down and took Carl's left hand, bringing it to his chest, and held it there against his heart. Carl stirred, murmuring drowsily, and his eyes fluttered open.

"You're cold," Van Helsing whispered, massaging the warmth back into the unusually lovely hand. "Tomorrow you will go to the infirmary. I don't want you dying of an infection."

He nodded slightly and closed his eyes again, sliding his leg over Van Helsing's, and drifting off once more.

"Silly friar," he murmured, resting his cheek in Carl's blond hair. "If you can't find a way to save me, no other can."

† † †

Carl awoke to the sunlight falling across his eyes from the window high above, and sat up sleepily. He was alone. For a moment he was seized with panic when he feared that Van Helsing's return had only been a desperate dream, but then the familiar sight of the woolen shirt and leather vest draping from the grappling hook hanger on the adjacent wall caught his eye—he sighed in relief when he realised that he hadn't gone completely mad after all.

And then he remembered what had taken place last night, and the panic came rushing back in an icy electric wave over his brain.

Van Helsing knew now. He knew Carl's secrets, knew _the_ secret, and the friar was terrified; not because Van Helsing would tell anyone, but because henceforth their entire relationship had changed. _Probably for the worse_, he thought.

Carl covered his face with his hands. "I should never have told him," he said.

"Told him what?"

His blond head snapped up; Van Helsing, dressed in pants and a loose-fitting shirt, shut the door behind him and carried a wooden bucket of steaming water to the bedside. Carl stared as if he hadn't seen the man in years.

"I burglarised the infirmary before anyone awoke, borrowed a few disinfectants and poultices for your, ah, injuries," he explained, setting the bucket on the floor. "I thought you would appreciate the discretion."

He smiled kindly and Carl thought himself capable of bursting into tears right then and there. Somehow he kept himself composed, and shuffled out of the way as Van Helsing took a seat on the edge of the bed, plunged a small cloth into the hot water, and wrung it out.

"Well," he said, turning to the young man, "you may take your shirt off now."

"Wha- _now_?"

"Yes, now. I don't know if you've noticed, but there are bloodstains all over my sheets. Unless you feel you'd rather go down to the infirmary in person-"

"All _right_," Carl whimpered in a harassed tone. "I'll do it. Just… could you just turn around, please? I don't think it's polite for a man of the cloth to be witnessed undressing."

Van Helsing's expression was almost hilariously annoyed. "Carl," he said evenly, "if you haven't removed that bloody shirt by the time I finish this sentence, it is going to be _torn_ off."

The threat –in combination with a voice to which one simply couldn't say no– worked like a charm, and Carl had pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside before Van Helsing had gotten to "torn". The friar was doing his damnedest not to turn red, but his ears looked as if they were close to combustion, and he purposely avoided Van Helsing's eyes. He was a little surprised to see how badly stained his shirt had become, and could only imagine what his back looked like.

"Turn around," Van Helsing said in a gentler voice, and Carl swallowed, turning as slowly as he possibly could until facing completely away.

He closed his eyes and cringed, waiting for a bark of horrified shock to hit him—but it never did.

A hot, damp cloth came into contact with his abused flesh; it felt nice for a moment but then it began to sting, growing steadily more unbearable until Carl was clenching his fists and suppressing the moans of agony in his throat.

"What- _is_ that?" he choked.

"Water and sodium hypochlorite," Van Helsing answered, dipping the cloth in the bucket and wringing it out again. "It will clean the wounds. After this it's iodine and bandages, and two week's rest."

"But you ca-"

"No complaints. If you keep reopening these wounds, you're either going to bleed to death or die from a bacterial contamination."

Carl almost grinned. "You're starting to sound like me, you know."

"Yes, well… one can only live with a scientist for so long."

Carl couldn't see Van Helsing smile, but he heard it in his voice all the same. "Thank you, Gabriel," he murmured at length. "You're a good man."

"So are you, despite whatever you might think," he answered, gently dabbing at the crimson stripes that would soon become the scars that the friar would carry for the rest of his life. "Don't ever do this to yourself again, Carl, do you understand?"

"Yes," he promised hoarsely, rubbing the moisture from his eyes.

This time he meant it.

The cloth and the water in the bucket was stained red by the time Van Helsing finished soaking Carl's back and set to work dressing the wounds with iodine and strips of gauze; he was forced to lean close to wrap the bandages around his chest, breath whispering across Carl's bare skin, who shivered several times and pretended to be cold.

"What are we going to tell Jinette?" Van Helsing finally asked, tying off a bandage.

"I'm sure I can fabricate some feasible fiction," Carl answered, turning around to face the hunter once more. "You encountered both an incubus and a succubus, had a bloody row, defeated one, gave pursuit to the other that escaped, got delayed in a remote forest, it's quite an easy excuse to conjure."

"What if he asks questions?"

"Leave the loopholes to me. I invented the Carl Variable, remember?"

"Ah. Right."

"Of course, the only problem remaining is how you wish to present yourself. Half of the Vatican thinks you're dead while the other half thinks you're in the process of dying. It's going to be a shock for them all to see you… curiously uninjured…" He trailed off as the gears in his head began to turn, and stared at Van Helsing's left shoulder with distant eyes. "You say the succubus stabbed you."

"Yes. Deeply. I felt the whole length of the blade lodge in my chest."

"And your heart stopped beating."

A flicker of worry crossed the man's face. "It's beating now, I assure you."

"Well, at least we know you are not one of the living dead," Carl murmured, nodding slightly.

"I still think it would be wise to keep a low profile, for caution's sake."

"You're afraid you might pose a threat to others?"

"I don't know what to think right now, Carl," said Van Helsing, "but I know enough that something isn't adding up. That's why I need you to run tests, try to see if you can find something."

"Something like what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure. An explanation of how I survived a knife to the heart, perhaps. An explanation for running a thousand leagues across Europe while in a state of semi-consciousness. Lots of things."

The friar began wringing his hands. "Van Helsing, you know that medical science is not my best field of study. I read rudimentary anatomy and medicine years ago, but I'm an engineer, not a physician."

"I know, Carl, but there is no one else who can help me; only _you_ know the truth behind Transylvania, only _you_ can I trust to keep this recent events confidential, because if by some ironic twist of fate I turn into some sort of monster… I would not want the Order discovering my secret. I _will_ die with it, Carl, and if those tests prove that there is something wrong with me, I will need your assistance in the end."

Carl gulped, looking not in the least bit thrilled. "I can't promise you anything, but I swear to God I'll try my best."

Van Helsing smiled and gave a friendly pat to the side of his blond head. "What would I do without you?"

"Best not to ask—you might scare yourself."

The hunter continued to grin, and tucked one of the up-curling locks of golden hair behind Carl's ear before standing and gathering his rucksack.

"You're leaving already?" the young man inquired, rising from the bed.

"I can't stay here," came the reply as he tossed a few articles of clothing into the leather bag. "Don't worry, I won't be far. There's an innkeeper just outside the city who owes me a favour for ridding him of some unpleasant tenants. I will board there until the dust settles and I've been cleared of any infernal maladies."

"Your faith in my abilities makes me nervous," Carl muttered.

"Sounds like it's the lack of faith in yourself that's doing it," said Van Helsing, shrugging on his duster. "Have courage, Carl. You're a genius, after all."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," the friar said with a small smile.

Van Helsing chuckled lightly, and Carl practically glowed with happiness; overwhelmed with emotion, he threw his arms about the man's neck and embraced him as if he would never see him again, possibly because it was true: God only knows if they would meet once more while still alive on this earth. It almost hadn't happened once before, and it could easily happen again. From now on, Carl vowed, he would always remember to say good-bye to Van Helsing—for he might not get a second chance.

Tears trickled from blue eyes as Carl pressed his face into Van Helsing's wavy brown hair. "I love you, Gabriel," he said simply, tightening his embrace before reluctantly letting go and stepping back. "Be careful."

The hunter stood still for a while, gazing at The Face That Loved Him with a sad glow in his tawny eyes. And then, without a flicker of change to his expression, reached out to place his hand behind Carl's neck and bring him forward in a shallow kiss.

It had to be a dream, because reality could not possibly ever be this wonderful.

Van Helsing pulled away slowly and his lips parted from Carl's, leaving the young man standing there, bottom lip trembling, with a half-dazed expression of both utter elation and immense sorrow on his face.

He stroked his fingers through Carl's hair and whispered to him, "I will return this evening around eight o'clock. We'll talk about how to handle this situation at the inn. Rest for now, though. Promise me you will rest, Carl."

"I will."

Van Helsing nodded and turned around, pulling the rucksack onto his back. Then, displaying an almost acrobatic agility, jumped easily to the sill high on the wall and disappeared through the narrow window. It had scarcely taken three seconds, and like a fleeting glimpse of movement out of the corner of one's eye, he had vanished from sight before one could even turn their head. The friar was left standing alone in the room with his mouth hanging open dubiously, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. It was incredible, illogical, _impossible_.

He needed books, he thought suddenly as his rational mind began to grind its gears. Lots of books. Books about demons and occult powers, Denmark and succubæ. And he needed syringes, microscopes, culturing dishes, glass slides, pipettes…

Carl hastily pulled on his damp, wrinkled robes as he made a mental list of supplies. He could rest later. Right now he needed to think. Van Helsing's career –his very _life_– could depend upon it. There was no time to waste; he must go to the lab.

The friar finished tying his cincture and rushed to the door, threw it wide open, and stopped abruptly in his tracks:

In the threshold stood Cardinal Jinette.

_To Be Continued in Chapter V_

º_Kyrie eleison_- Greek for _Lord have mercy_; a pre-Christian expression adopted by the Roman Catholic church in the 5th century.


	5. Chapter V

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**V.**

The first words out of Carl's mouth were: "Oh shit-"

This did nothing to improve the terrifying scowl on Cardinal Jinette's face, which was as shadowed and ominous as a tornado-spawning storm cloud. The friar wouldn't have been at all surprised if lightning shot from the elder man's dark, piercing eyes.

Carl clapped both hands over his cursing mouth and took a step backwards as the Cardinal took a step forwards.

"I am certain you have a very good explanation for being here," Jinette said lowly.

The young man froze like a small animal trying to evade a predator's sight; how he desperately wished he could blend into the scenery and disappear. Alas, there would be no easy way out of this situation without employing crafty lies, and of all the people in the world –alive, dead and undead– to which Carl dreaded lying, Jinette was at the top of the list. God Almighty Himself came second. In fact, the friar would rather go for a joyride on a werewolf's back than deceive the Cardinal, but in order to keep his word to Van Helsing, he had no other choice.

"I c-can't lie to you, Your Grace," he stammered meekly. "I've been sleeping in Van Helsing's bed since his disappearance. It… it makes me feel safe."

_Well, it's not a _complete _lie,_ Carl thought with some comfort.

"I heard voices as I was passing," Jinette murmured. "You were talking to someone, weren't you?"

"No! I mean… well, yes, Your Grace. I was- I was just…" The friar bowed his head and hoped that his acting abilities would not fail him now. "I miss him. Sometimes I like to pretend that he is still here, and I talk to him as if he were in the room. I…" He willed the tears to come to his eyes –it wasn't difficult– and lifted his head to give the Cardinal the most pathetic, heartbroken expression he could summon. "I don't know what to do now that he's…"

Jinette's expression softened slightly and he placed a hand on Carl's shoulder. "My son," he said gravely, "your heart is grieving but your soul is not willing to accept it. You should attend Penance this afternoon and relieve your conscience of its burden. I fear your condition will only worsen if you do not."

"Yes, of course, Cardinal," Carl agreed, nodding his head several times and sniffing. "It sounds like a blessing." _He actually believes me…_

"Very good. However," said Jinette, and then his voice fell to a hush as he leaned in close, "your behaviour has attracted much attention from the Order; we are concerned about your… well, we are concerned for you." Pause. "And your relationship with Van Helsing."

The friar's blood turned to ice at the word 'relationship', his face visibly blanching. "Rela- wh-what. Relation? Ship… ah. Wh- I'm, my what?" His sputtering incompetence with the English language would have been positively laughable on any other occasion, but no one was laughing at this point. Especially not Jinette.

"A small meeting will be held tonight in my office ," he said. "Cardinal Ruggero will be present as well. We are going to discuss Van Helsing's disappearance, and you have been requested to join us."

"Me? Requested? Why? By whom? Why did-"

"Because you know more of Van Helsing than any other person in the abbey," Jinette said sharply, "and he has remained distant from all others save you. Perhaps your familiarity with him and his actions will be able to shed some light on what might have befallen him."

Carl's fingers began to rub restlessly against one another, a clear indication of his nervousness. He didn't like the tone of this conversation, and the Cardinal's preoccupation with their personal lives wasn't making him feel any better. What kind of questions were going to be asked at the meeting, he wondered? Would he be able to answer them? What if he said something wrong and got himself into trouble? What if his lie was revealed? What if they found out Van Helsing was alive? What would they do?

"I can see you have much to think about," said Jinette, turning away. "Do not worry. You have all day to gather your thoughts; I will see you this evening at seven." With that, he strode down the corridor so gracefully it seemed that he glided instead of walked.

Carl released the breath he had been holding and closed his eyes, silently thanking God for the fortitude to face the Cardinal in such a critical situation. It seemed rather sacrilegious though, he thought, to thank Him for the courage to tell a lie. But nothing bad had happened, had it? It's not as if it was a _terrible_ lie. No one would be hurt by it. That made it all right, didn't it? Carl hoped so.

Ignoring the stinging of his irritated lash wounds, he hurried off in the direction of the labouratory.

† † †

Van Helsing placed his bag on the uncomfortable looking bed in the room and walked across the floor to close the shutters and draw the curtains; the bright light was giving him an ache in his eyes, and the afternoon sun would soon heat the room until it became stuffy. Van Helsing much preferred cold and drafty environment to a hot and smothering one. Luck seemed to be on his side in this aspect, for the inn was very old and vented in places where it wasn't meant to vent. Still, the suites were substantial and the location was little more than half a league from Vatican City—it would work for the time being.

The hunter sighed tiredly and sat on the bed. He felt as if he ought to be doing something right now considering the severity of this situation, but the fact was that he hadn't slept at all the previous night and was thoroughly exhausted. He didn't understand his sudden inability to find rest during the dark hours, but felt as if he owed it to the ordeal he had been struggling through for the past month. If only he could remember more…

Van Helsing sank back into the mattress and closed his eyes. He was asleep within moments.

† † †

The Vatican –and the Apostolic Palace in particular– houses two of the most impressive libraries in the world, though the world only knows of one; the second belongs to that of the Holy Order. Deep within the subterranean recesses beneath papal throne and along the same broad corridor that led the to the labouratory lay the second greatest library in all the world, comprising ancient tomes of legendary literature about the seedy origins of evil predating the birth of Christ by thousands of years. It was the Order's most valuable tool in combating the malevolent forces of wickedness which humanity had long ago forgotten, and was oftentimes the only place to which they turned when matters became desperate. Knowledge is power, and one must know their enemy before they can defeat him.

Daniel Cohen's job was to collect information –specifically untranslated information– and relay it to the scholars and scientists who were unable to decipher such languages. The young Jew from New York was fluent in Aramaic, Greek, Ancient Hebrew and Ancient Egyptian, therefore much of his time was spent in the Library of the Order, transcribing documents into legible material. Unfortunately his allergy to dust forced him to take frequent breaks to rinse his eyes in the lavatory down the corridor, and it was on his way back to the library after one of these trips that he noticed the familiar scarlet cassock of Cardinal Jinette. He was just preparing to call out a greeting to him when Jinette was joined by another cardinal, one whom Daniel did not recognise. The two men began to speak in hushed tones and he continued to approach them, until he heard the other cardinal ask, "And how is Friar Carl today?"

Daniel immediately stopped where he was and backed himself against the wall, just out of sight behind one of the large granite pillars.

"Better than he was yesterday," answered Jinette. "I discovered him as he was leaving Van Helsing's room this morning. He is more deeply troubled than we previously suspected—apparently he has been sleeping in Van Helsing's bed ever since I told him the news, and he tells me that he talks to him."

"You mean spiritually?"

"I mean in his head." Jinette shook his head in dismay. "I fear he may be going mad, Ruggero, if he hasn't already."

"Grief can do that to people, especially young people," Cardinal Ruggero reassured. "It is only a temporary condition, but considering how close he was to Van Helsing it might take several years for the period of mourning to run its course."

"I know. Carl's reaction to his disappearance was astounding. That is why I have called Father Bertolli to the meeting tonight."

"Bertolli? Why him? I thought he dealt with troubled youth. He has a degree in psychology, does he not?"

"He does. My reason is because I suspect that we are not seeing the whole truth behind Carl and Van Helsing's relationship, which might extend beyond… platonic boundaries."

Cardinal Ruggero's bushy eyebrows arched slightly. "Homosexuality in the Holy Order? That is a serious allegation, Jinette."

"I am aware of that, and the Lord knows I do not wish to make such assumptions this early on, but if Carl is truly on the verge of his sanity we must prepare ourselves for every possible explanation."

"That is _if_ he will tell us anything."

"I would not worry about that," Jinette said as they began to walk away. "Father Bertolli is very skilled when it comes to counseling victims of abuse; we will receive an answer one way or another."

From behind the pillar, Daniel caught his breath. "Oh my God," he murmured. "It's an inquisition…" A moment later he was dashing down the long corridor towards the labouratory, allergies and transcriptions forgotten.

† † †

"For the last time, Carl, the answer is _no_."

The friar began to wheedle. It was most unbecoming. "I promise I will be careful with it. I'll be _ever_ so careful, and it will be returned before you can miss it. Please, Bianca. _Please_."

The 30 year-old Russian nun turned to give Carl a glare that would have chilled a Siberian bear. "You are asking me to give up my eyes," she said crisply. "I do not lend out my microscope to every clumsy oaf who asks. It is a very powerful piece of equipment, not to mention expensive. The lenses alone are worth more than your life, and I had to wait over a year for the Vatican's grant to go through. Besides, I am using it right now so will have to wait, and that is _if_ I even decide to put it up for rent; I heard what happened when you borrowed Abdul's armillary, and if I let you take my microscope and you return a sack of crumbs to me, I will _crucify_ you, Carl, in no uncertain terms."

"Yes, yes, of course," the friar said excitedly, for when Bianca stopped refusing and began making idle threats it meant that she was close to relenting. "We'll make a public event out of it if I do. I'll even help you drive the nails. Please oh please? May I? Might I?"

The nun gave him a fleeting glare. "At the end of the day, once I am finished with it."

"Thank you _thank you_, Bianca, you are a saint."

"A saint sans sanity, perhaps. Now stop bothering me, Carl. I have much work to do."

"Oh right, yes. Er, carry on then." As he walked away Carl heard the biologist muttering under her breath in Russian, no doubt begrudging her colleagues' lack of sufficient supplies. He smiled to himself at his small victory, for prying Bianca's fingers from any of her precious pieces of lab equipment was a commendable feat.

The friar was in unusually good spirits as he went about gathering what he needed for tonight; perhaps it was the thought of seeing Van Helsing again that added a bit of spring to his step. It was certainly noticeable to everyone around him, especially after his period of immense depression. Carl's cheerful mood was quite infectious, and when the other labouratory workers saw that the black cloud that had been following the young man for the past several days had disappeared, they were glad for him and relieved. Except for one.

"Carl!" cried Daniel, jogging from the east wing of the lab. He was out of breath.

The friar immediately stopped browsing through the selection of Petri dishes on the supply table and set his leather knapsack on the bench. "Daniel?" he asked concernedly. "What's the matter? Is someone chasing you? You shouldn't breathe like that—you're going to get a stitch in your side. It's in through the nose, out through the mouth."

Daniel bent over and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Not now, Carl, I've-" Pant. "-been running, looking all over for you." Gasp. "I need to talk to you now."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. _Right_ now, in private, come on." He took Carl by the sleeve and dragged him away, ignoring the protests in his ear. When they had reached a fairly secluded area, Daniel looked the friar straight in the eye. "I need you to tell me what is going on here."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," said Carl, eyes darting nervously back and forth.

"That wasn't very convincing at all. I _know_ something is going on with you."

"What do you think is going on then?"

"I saw Cardinal Jinette and Cardinal Ruggero in the hall not too long ago. They're going to have a meeting with you."

"I already know that."

"But did they tell you _why_?"

Carl shifted his weight from one foot to the other, blinking rapidly, and tried not to look as perturbed as he actually felt.

Daniel didn't wait for him to reply. "They suspect that in the past you and Van Helsing… that you've, you were… involved. With each other. Sexually."

If Carl had died while still on his feet, he showed no signs of it. However, his heart was pounding like the drums of war and his stomach suddenly churned with nausea. "Wh-what."

The young brunette leaned close and whispered, "Father Bertolli is going to try to get you to admit it, regardless if it's true or not. Jinette even said that you've been sleeping in his bed… it. It's not true, is it? You and Van Helsing never…"

"No! No, we… no, never," Carl stammered. "He's my colleague. Nothing more."

Daniel looked immensely relieved. "Good. Thank God. You had me worried for a minute there."

The friar swallowed down his sickness dryly. "What should I do?"

"Leave the Vatican, if even just for tonight. You don't stand a chance on your own with two cardinals and a psychologist priest who has a specialty in this sort of thing. If they suspect you of something, they can bend your mind until even _you_ start to believe it's true. Interrogation, inquisition, call it what you like, but I've seen it happen before. Carl, you must leave the See. The sooner the better."

"But- but what about my-"

"Don't worry about anything. I'll cover for you."

"Cover for me how? They're going to be bloody _furious_ if I'm absent from the meeting –and that's not mentioning leaving the Vatican without permission– and then I'll have the Swiss Guard waiting for me when I-"

"Calm down, Carl. I'll think of something. You're not the only person in the lab who is good at bullshitting." He then winked.

Carl gazed at him almost reverently. "Why are you doing all this for me? You could get into serious trouble."

Daniel shrugged nonchalantly. "What else are friends for?"

† † †

When Van Helsing opened his eyes again, the last rays of orange sunlight were peeking through the narrows spaces between the shutter blinds. He rose from the bed, fully rested and mind clear. The appetite that he had lost for the past few days had returned to him with a vengeance, and he suddenly realised that he was famished. He pulled his pocket watch from his vest and glanced at the hands. Half past six. He had enough time to appease his hunger before returning to the Vatican for Carl.

Returning for Carl.

Van Helsing couldn't deny that his heart quickened momentarily when he thought of the friar, the young man whom he realised he had only just begun to know; the person who was so sick in love with him that he endured brutal pain and agony to compensate for his own feelings of defectiveness. The man's heart ached for him suddenly, terribly, when he thought of all the things Carl had endured with silence, leaving his affection unspoken.

Van Helsing doubted he could ever return Carl's love in that particular way. It was simply too bizarre, too passionate… too dangerous. Friars lived by three moral codes: chastity, poverty and obedience. Admittedly Carl had had some difficulty in his quest to master the foremost, but two out of three was not too shabby. And taking into account that Carl was younger and quite a bit handsomer than the average friar, it was a miracle that 'chastity' was still on the list.

Yes, Carl was handsome, thought the huntsman as he splashed water on his face from the basin and remembered the previous night. Attractive in a careless, dishevelled sort of way. Some people might even call him comely. But Van Helsing wasn't 'some people'. Carl was young, educated but naïve, and he belonged to God. Forbidden territory on multiple levels.

So why had Carl become so enamoured with him? What made Carl realise his feelings for Van Helsing so long ago? Were they even genuine, or was the friar simply looking for an emotional crutch to help him limp through a time in his life when young men his age ought to be getting married and thinking of raising children? Had Carl done right by choosing a monastic lifestyle? Did he ever regret his decision?

Van Helsing wondered so much that his head began to ache for the questions. Perhaps if there was time tonight, after the examination, he would ask Carl. Maybe.

Pulling on his great coat, the hunter turned up the collar to conceal his face and left the room. He walked down the narrow hallway and the creaky staircase at its end, out of the inn, and into the dusky streets of Rome.

† † †

Even the seat of holiness was not bereft of troubles; Rome was a city, and as with most cities, there are both good and bad parts wherein dwell people of similar disposition. The days were still short, and most of the sensible merchants had closed shop or gone home, their clients following suit until the streets belonged only to vagabonds, miscreants, drifters and thieves. The houses of ill repute opened their doors, welcoming the business that the night brought them.

Sometimes Vatican City seemed an island of Heaven afloat in a sea of Hell.

Van Helsing treaded the waters of this sea without trepidation, safe by the knowledge that he himself was a shark among all the little fishes so industrious in their immoral and deceitful trades. He took in the sights and smells and sounds of the evening, keenly aware of what was happening around him at all times. It was a habit he was accustomed to exercising, especially when in the company of the dregs of humanity. However, Van Helsing himself felt more of a connection with scalawags than saints, for he spent the better portion of his adult life –what he could recall of it– casting his shadow upon decrepit alley walls and scurrying like a rat in the dismal gutters where were tossed fallen souls and broken hearts. The gutter had become his natural environment, and wallowing in it was his career. It was here in the streets that he felt confident, in control, free from judgment by his superiours. He would have dared to call it home were it not for the fact that he knew he was neither wanted nor welcome, even among villains.

Half of the world rejected him—the other half merely used him.

Van Helsing allowed his thoughts to wander as he sated his hunger at a nearby restaurant, a dim, dingy little establishment whose chief profits came more from the opium den downstairs rather than its food service. Though he indulged in seconds and thirds, he could not seem to appease the hollow gnaw in his stomach, and presently decided that he had a better chance of remedying his appetite with something other than the restaurant's poor fare, though he knew not how.

He took to walking the streets again, slowly making his way towards the Holy See. As the evening began to darken and the cold orb of the moon began to climb the sky's velvet blue vestment, Van Helsing became increasingly alert of his surroundings; voices of the people close by and across the way began to crowd his ears and make his mind spin as he attempted to either sort or drown out the individual conversations. His eyes were assaulted by the brightness and clarity of the vicinity, images suddenly presenting themselves in such amazing contrast that he sometimes misjudged his own perceptions and stumbled. Furthermore, everything around him took on a sharp and distinct odour, sometimes so foul and oppressive that he grimaced and covered his face; other times so potent and sweet that he was nearly made sick with nausea. He raised his kerchief about the lower half of his face, rather to act as a barrier from these overpowering smells than to disguise himself, though it hardly did anything to stave off the attack on his nostrils.

Van Helsing had begun to wonder if the meat he had eaten at the restaurant might have been laced with drugs or poison when he suddenly caught wind of something familiar. This in itself was absurd, for there was no wind blowing to carry a scent. It was enough to bring him to a halt and lower the kerchief from his face, lifting his nose to the air like an animal on the hunt. He inhaled deeply and, somehow, amid the myriad of other smells, found the one that triggered his recollection.

Iodine. Gauze. Dried blood. Old books. Wool. Wood smoke. Steel. Chemicals.

Van Helsing's eyes began to scan left and right, all around, turning his ears towards any familiar sounds as he followed his nose. He turned left, crossed a narrow alleyway, darted two blocks up the street, took another alley three blocks left, and found himself in the throng of the nightly market on Strada Cadutto. The smell was strongest here, and he thought he could discern an alien (and agitated) English accent speaking the Italian language. A moment later and his eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of monastery brown. Another moment later and he was standing beside Carl, observing the hooded friar insist angrily that he was not interested in buying the merchant's cigars but only wished to know the way to the closest inn.

"I could point you in that direction, no purchase necessary," Van Helsing said as he leaned down and gave Carl a start.

"Good Lord in Heaven!" the friar exclaimed, jumping back. "Don't do that! I could have hurt you."

"Hurt me?" The hunter looked humourously surprised.

"_Yes_, actually. I'm quite ready to lay into anyone who comes too close, and _don't_ you say that monks aren't supposed to injure others, because I'm firstly not a monk and secondly—have you _seen_ this place? Gomorrah has nothing on Cadutto. I think the only thing keeping God from wiping it off the face of the earth is the fact that the Vatican is here."

Van Helsing wanted to smile but he was far too concerned at the moment. "What are you doing all the way out here, and at this hour? It's dangerous. I said I would come for you. Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I couldn't." Carl looked suddenly guilty. "Van Helsing, there's something we need to talk about. Not here, though."

The man didn't like the sound of this but relented with a knowing nod; he took Carl by the arm and guided him through the seamy twilight market.

_To Be Continued in Chapter VI_


	6. Chapter VI

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**VI.**

"This is rather nice," Carl said as he glanced about the room and slid his bag from his shoulder. "I wouldn't have expected it from the looks of the exterior."

Van Helsing removed his coat and didn't respond, quite unsure of what to say at this point. The friar set his bag on the floor and drew back the hood of his cowl, revealing his tousled mess of blond hair which he didn't bother to neaten. His gaze followed the hunter as he opened the shutters to let in the cool air—with a bashful demeanor Carl approached him.

"I, ah… have something of yours," he said softly. "Been looking after it for you. I'd wanted to give it to you last night but I forgot entirely about it."

Van Helsing was puzzled by Carl's words until the young man produced from his robes a very familiar article: the broad-rimmed hat that many thought had a lesser chance of being removed than one of Van Helsing's own limbs—he reached out and took it from Carl, looking at it with a smile that was half amused and half incredulous.

"I thought I'd lost this thing for certain," he said, turning it over in his hands and staring at it as if it were a relic from a past life. He lifted his eyes and gazed at Carl with a soft expression. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," said the friar modestly, but Van Helsing could tell by the tremor in his voice that he meant exactly the contrary.

After some length of silence, Van Helsing began to get the notion that Carl had more imperative reasons for being here rather than simply to return a personal item; the huntsman placed his hat on a nearby bureau and asked, "Why did you come for me?"

For a moment Carl's blue eyes were filled with fear and shame, and he bowed his head remorsefully. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault," he murmured. "Jinette spotted me as I was leaving your room, and I was forced to invent a lie that made me sound utterly mad. They…" A red flush bloomed on his cheeks. "They think that you abused me in the past, and that this accounts for my current behaviour. I was supposed to attend a meeting this evening with the Cardinal, but Daniel overheard him talking about bringing in a psychologist to find out from me –inquisition style– if it is true."

Van Helsing frowned. "If what is true?"

Carl turned his head away, so great was his shame. "That you… have had carnal knowledge of me. That you've sodomised me… and my own 'indecent obsessions' with you were the provocation of it all." He hid his face in his hands. "I have only ever loved and admired you, Van Helsing, yet I've done nothing but condemn you. I'm so sorry. Words don't exist to tell you how sorry I-" The end of his sentence was lost as he became overwhelmed.

Van Helsing was utterly stunned by this news, though he did a good job of concealing it; heaving a burdened sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his coarse jaw. "Does anyone else know about this?" he inquired.

"N-no. No one except Daniel of course, but I lied to him, too. He was the one who urged me to flee the meeting."

"Then I take it you left the Vatican without permission."

"Yes."

Pause. "Does anyone else know I'm alive?"

"No."

Van Helsing nodded to himself. "Then everything will be all right."

At this, Carl spun around, looking most insane. "All _right_? How could things _possibly_ be all right? You're suspected of a crime punishable by death! I'm a half-mad, heretical runaway in an unnatural love affair! You've been missing for over a month, you can't remember anything of what happened, you think that you're turning into a monster, and I've got a blood-thirsty nun back at the lab who is going to _crucify_ me if I put so much as a scratch on her microscope! Pray, _do_ tell me how things could possibly be any better than _this_!"

"Well I'll tell you _one_ thing, Carl!" Van Helsing shouted suddenly, springing from the bed and stalking over to the terrified friar, who amazingly stood his ground before the intimidating man. There was a second of silence, and then the hunter's fearsome countenance creased with a grin. "It can't possibly get any worse than this."

Carl shook his head. "D-don't say that. You know it can."

"Maybe so." Van Helsing rested his hand on the friar's shoulder. "But I once knew a noble person who was able to look on the brighter side of death. And if there's a brighter side of death, then there's a brighter side to everything." With a gentle smile, he cupped Carl's cheek in his hand and stroked his thumb soothingly against the feverish skin. "Let's start looking for the brighter side, all right?"

The friar's tense expression melted –as if he found the man's touch to be a cool breeze of relief in his personal inferno of hysteria– and he gave a nod of acknowledgement. "All right," he said. "But it's going to be a long night."

† † †

Van Helsing watched the procedure with fascination: his left arm was tied off at the bicep with a tourniquet, and the tip of the needle slowly pushed against the soft skin above the vein in the juncture of his elbow. The skin was pierced, a prick of pain followed, and the needle was inserted neatly into the vein.

For a man who claimed hardly any skills in medical practise, Carl played a convincing role as doctor; lips pursed in concentration, the friar carefully lifted the plunger, filling the barrel of the syringe with Van Helsing's dark red blood.

"Look away if it makes you queasy," he advised. "I'm going to draw a lot and it wouldn't do to have you fainting on me."

Though he wasn't feeling in the least bit queasy, Van Helsing decided to watch Carl instead, and he did so with new eyes.

_I've spent my whole life searching for a place to call home, for a family to be a part of_, he though as he gazed at The Face That Loved Him, _for someone who could care for me, look out for me…_ _My job has been to protect others, but who will protect _me_? Who could survive by my side long enough to look out for my own safety? Who has the trust to obey me and the courage to disagree with me? Who has the wisdom to advise me, the love to respect me, the compassion to fear for my life? Who loves Gabriel and not Van Helsing the Monster Hunter?_

"I think I know," murmured Van Helsing.

Carl withdrew the needle from the man's arm and placed a cotton swab over it, removing the tourniquet as well. "_Finito_. Hold that there for a few moments. Sorry, what were you saying?"

Van Helsing only shook his head.

"Well then, you just sit on the bed and relax while I get started with the observations…"

Carl had set up a makeshift labouratory on the small writing desk at which he now seated himself, and began to examine a drop of blood using the microscope. He would gaze into the eyepiece for a while, adjust the magnification, and scribble some notes onto paper. For good measure he had checked Van Helsing's reflexes (excellent), his vision (excellent also), his temperature (a little high but otherwise normal) and taken hair and skin samples. The blood had been divided into several smaller test glasses—for multiple tests, Carl had told him. All the less blood that would have to be drawn again.

Van Helsing became restless as the evening wore on, pacing the room as he had nothing better to do and he didn't want to distract Carl from his work. He had lain down on the bed in an attempt to sleep, but he wasn't tired. He buffed his leather hat until it shined, then he decided to do the same with his boots and his great coat, until finally he had run out of clothing to neaten. Always he kept glancing at the moon rising in the sky. It made him anxious and worried, as if he had a rapidly approaching deadline that he needed to meet. But that was absurd, he told himself. He was simply anticipating the results of his examination.

The constant pacing was also beginning to wear on Carl's delicate nerves. "You're not obligated to stay here," he said. "If you want to go out and stretch your legs, you can. It's going to be at least an hour before I get this first sample finished and I would feel better if you were outside roaming the streets rather than wearing a groove in the floor."

Van Helsing almost jumped at the opportunity, but he expressed his only concern: "This is not exactly a friendly neighbourhood, Carl."

"I've dealt with worse."

"And it's night."

"No trifle."

"I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"You forget there's a good reason why friars never get robbed."

"Because they don't wish to be killed by an angry mercenary?"

"I was hoping for something along the lines of 'oath of poverty, rob only if requiring the practise', but I suppose the wrath of Van Helsing is just as well."

The huntsman smiled lopsidedly. "Have you at least got a weapon?"

Carl looked up from his microscope and pointed to it emphatically. "Do you have any idea what this instrument is capable of doing to a human skull when propelled through the air?"

"You'll be fine, then?"  
"Of course. Don't worry about me, Van Helsing. You've enough on your mind as it is."

Reluctantly, the man donned his sorely-missed hat and locked the door behind him.

† † †

In a dingy, poorly-lit tavern in Turin, the usual patrons were commencing their traditional activities of cards, dice and alcohol, when the front door opened and in walked a stranger dressed entirely in black. All conversation and gambling faded into silence as the hooded figure strode to the bar and addressed the wary tender in a heavy accent: "I am looking for a holy man, one who calls himself Van Helsing."

The barkeep hid his instinctive fear with a gruff façade and muttered, "No one round here like that. You ordering something or no?"

Ignoring the man's question, the figure leaned across the counter. "Tell me where he is."

"What business is it of yours? Even if that old tale about a murderous madman preying on helpless victims was true, _and_ if I knew where he was, I wouldn't tell any drifter from off the –urk!"

In a movement so swift that nobody saw it, the figure had reached across the counter and grabbed the barkeep by his beefy neck, and lifted him off his feet with one pale hand.

"Tell me where he is," the wraith repeated.

The man sputtered and squirmed as he was held aloft, and managed to choke, "I d-don't know! He's just a myth, a legend used to scare children!"

"Then tell me the legend."

"Urgh! I don't know all of it but –ack!– some say he lives in the Black Forest, others say a dark castle in the Loire Val –rghh! S-still others say beneath the Vatican itself. They –ngh!– say that he can only be found if he wants to be found, that anyone looking for him will die! Aughk!"

The figure abruptly released his hold on the man's throat, who tumbled to the tavern floor with a heavy thud. "That will be all," came the breathy murmur, and the black-clad stranger turned around, striding to the door and disappearing into the night.

A few moments later, several gamblers sprang to their feet and dashed out the door in pursuit of the figure, but stopped short just outside the tavern; the street was empty and deserted both ways.

"Whaddo ye s'pose _that_ was?" one of the men asked, glancing nervously about.

"I dunno," another answered, "but I know it wasn't human."

† † †

The night was growing late on the back streets of Rome, and soon the filth peddlers and flesh merchants would yield their shifts to other, more disreputable denizens, and retire their sordid trades until the following night. Van Helsing had been walking aimlessly through alley and boulevard for the past two hours, his thoughts wholly focused upon the strange feelings amassing in the core of his soul and what little he could remember from his most recent –and possibly unresolved– assignment. The more he mulled, the deeper he sank into the dark recesses of his mind, becoming oblivious to all except his flustered inner monologue.

The restlessness he had been feeling all night had yet to recede, and more than once the hunter caught himself unknowingly taking great effort to avoid places where the moonlight shone from behind the cordovan tile roofs onto the cobblestone street. He thought himself ridiculous for still harbouring fears of lunar transformation, though he nevertheless stepped carefully around the pale blue pools of softly glowing light, keeping close to the shadows.

As he began to point his course in the direction of the inn again, flashes of memory nagged at him more persistently: glimpses of a swiftly-passing moon above a black crown of trees, the scent of sap and evergreens in his lungs, the pounding of his heart as he ran… or flew. Or imagined. Was it simply a dream? Was it like so many of his dreams, a random thought conjured by his brain with no purpose or meaning? Or was it pieces of his life that might one day come together to form his person, to give him a sense of placement in this world?

Van Helsing didn't know. He knew it was impossible, recalling intimate details of wars that took place centuries ago, yet he wanted to believe that it was true, that there was reason for suffering these nightmares of battles and carnage, for perhaps there were kinder memories that existed between the images that had carved themselves into his mind. For where there was great misery, there was also great hope, and where there was fear and anger, there was comfort and love.

_Love…_

Van Helsing was not alarmed when Carl entered his thoughts like a warm beam of sunlight breaking through storm clouds—the young friar had now become associated with all the good, happy things in Van Helsing's life, and though they were few and far between, it made them all the more precious: lighthearted pranks and laughter, smiles and intelligent conversations that he could have with no other. Life-saving advice, expert craftsmanship, a limitless imagination, friendship… Carl had offered it all to Van Helsing without expecting anything in return.

Though it was the mendicant way to give so selflessly, Van Helsing was a man who lived his life by a system of payments and vows; he was a man of his word, and never left a debt unpaid. But he had a debt he owed to Carl, especially now that the young man had risked not only his position in the Church, but his reputation in civilised society. And for what? A troubled mercenary who was too busy trying to stitch together his history to acknowledge the sacrifices being made for him? A man so absorbed in the past that he was throwing away his future? How could Carl ever expect Van Helsing to return his love when the object of his affection was oblivious to the present?

…unless Carl had already willingly given his heart with the understanding that he would never see it again. Love unrequited, for ever and ever.

It was a metaphorical spectrum, and they were each on either end: Van Helsing was ruled by his past through bits of memory and intangible dreams while Carl was ruled by the future through progress and factual information. They were a world apart from each other, and yet still their attraction could not be denied. Like magnets drawn towards one another, or why one's heart beats so loudly when their beloved smiles, the reason for this love was both simple and yet inexplicable.

An old world and a new one, past and future, existed eons apart from each other… but perhaps between the two of them they could create a world of the present, and build their lives together in a place where they could find the balance they so desperately needed.

And then, Van Helsing felt something blossom in his soul that he had not felt in a very long time: hope. Raw, unrefined hope. It flourished and spread through his body like a wave of electric fire, lifting all burdens from his shoulders and leaving him feeling as if he were light as a feather.

_I feel, I want, I must…_

His heart pounded with a strange calibre of excitement and energy; there was so much to do, so much to be done, such happiness and love to be had and to be made-

"-and what am I doing out _here_?" he asked himself suddenly. As quickly as the question had been spoken, its answer vanished with a carefree smile that made itself at home on Van Helsing's face.

Then, with sheer and utter abandon, he broke into a silent, effortless run and disappeared into the shadows of the streets.

† † †

Carl was tapping his papers into order on the writing desk when a slight sound behind him caused him to turn around.

A dark silhouette was crouched in the window, poised to spring.

"_Jesus Christ!_" the friar screamed, and papers exploded into the air.

The figure climbed down from the sill as Carl bolted across the room either in search of a weapon or an exit. Or possibly even a place to lay down and die.

"Carl! Carl, it is only me," Van Helsing said as he removed his hat.

The young man whipped around with a coat stand in his hands, and his terrified expression twisted into extreme aggravation as papers fluttered to the floor. "What the bloody _hell_ were you doing in the window? What do you think you are, some sort of _monkey_?"

"I knew the door was locked. I decided to use the window."

"The _window_!" Carl set the coat stand aside with a heavy thud. "Were you raised in a barn, Van Helsing? Knock on the bleeding door and I'll answer it! What sane person uses a window as a doorway? It's a two storey climb! You could have at least called up to tell me you were on your way, instead of bloody _bursting_ in here like a-"

"I didn't burst in."

"-_slinking_ in here like some kind of villainous, friar-murdering cretin-!"

It was very difficult not to laugh at Carl's distress—Van Helsing bit his lower lip in an attempt to keep the grin off of his face. It was impossible, and laughter hissed its way out from between the hunter's teeth.

The friar appeared astounded. "You think this is _funny_?" he demanded, storming across the room and drawing himself up to his full five-feet, seven-inches before Van Helsing.

"No, Carl. It wasn't funny at all."

"You can't even lie to me with a straight face."

"I'm truly sorry."

"If you were, you'd be able to apologise without snickering."

"Shall I beg for forgiveness then, or would you rather beat me senseless with a coat stand?"

Carl launched into a rambling, nagging babble while Van Helsing got rid of his chuckles and at last composed himself enough to look at the friar without snorting with laughter. "I'm very sorry for surprising you, Carl," he said. "Next time I'll use the door."

The young man didn't look convinced. "Indeed. And dare I even ask what provoked the sudden urge to climb walls instead of stairs?"

Van Helsing shrugged one shoulder. "Shorter route."

"Ah." One blond eyebrow arched suspiciously and then lowered. "Well, it's not the most legitimate excuse I've heard from you, but it will do. I suppose you're wondering how your blood examination went over, yes?"

"I'm all ears," Van Helsing said, removing his coat and tossing it on the back of a chair.

"I'm… afraid I've got some bad news."

The hunter's face went pallid as he turned to stare at Carl, who bowed his head regretfully.

"There's an abnormality in your red blood cells that is altering their molecular structure and jeopardising the integrity of your entire circulatory system… I'm afraid you've only got about five or six months to..."

"…to what?"

"To live."

As the icy chill of shock began to sink in, Carl suddenly lifted his head and smiled brightly. "Just jesting. You're perfectly fine."

"_Carl!_"

"Really, Van Helsing, you oughtn't to be so gullible. It could have serious repercuss- no! Get away! You've _yourself_ to blame, _you_ fell for it! Don't take it out on-"

"Come here, Carl. I'm going to kill you."

"You frightened me worse! You owe me a- ohnopleaseSTOPitVanHelsingputmedownthisinstan- aauuugh!"

Van Helsing had trapped the friar in a corner and tackled him about the waist, lifted him off the floor as if he weighed nothing, and tossed the squealing burden onto the bed. There was an answering squeal as several mattress springs popped and otherwise broke themselves under the sudden impact, and Carl began to rant in a high-pitched voice as he flailed and fought to disentangle his limbs from his own robes.

"What in the name of all holiness is the matter with you?" he cried as he sat up while Van Helsing dropped himself on the edge of the bed nonchalantly. "This is a very dire situation we're in if you haven't _noticed_, and fooling around like this is very counterproductive to our-"

Van Helsing caught the friar's face in his hands and stared at him, nose to nose and eye to eye. "Carl, please shut up so I can kiss you."

"All right."

And then they were kissing.

Carl threw his arms about Van Helsing's shoulders without a moment's hesitation and pressed his body into the older man's with almost wanton abandon; Van Helsing found himself channelling and reflecting Carl's fervour as he swung his legs onto the bed and began to negotiate with the buttons on his waistcoat. Strange how such routine things like working fastenings suddenly became much more complicated when trying to get out of your clothes as quickly as possible.

Carl at last succeeded in wedging Van Helsing's waist between his legs and, with his fists knotted into the fabric of the man's shirt, pulled him down onto his body. Soon mouths were not the only things being kissed, but necks and earlobes and any flesh accessible to their lips. It was a ruthless passion unleashing itself in the small, dimly-lit room; heavy gasps and soft sighs filled the air, and Van Helsing's hand found its way beneath the layers of thick cloth, caressing the urgent warmth nestled between Carl's legs.

"Oh my God Almighty yes," the friar moaned, pushing his hips into the pleasurable touch. "Please… Gabriel."

Van Helsing's skin prickled when he heard his name spoken so sweetly by the voice now priceless to him, and he wanted nothing less than to pour himself into Carl's heart and stay there forever. He began to massage the young man's awakening flesh, cautiously exploring the contours and nuances of the body consecrated to the Heavenly Father, and found it irresistible.

"God forgive me for doing this to you," he whispered against Carl's neck, breathing in the heady scent of the friar's skin and hair and sweat.

Carl reached up and helped peel off Van Helsing's waist coat. "God forgive me for wanting you to do this to me," he answered in a husky murmur as he slid the braces from Gabriel's shoulders and slipped his hands beneath his shirt.

Van Helsing groaned softly when he felt Carl's hands stroke his chest and slide over his shoulders, kneading the firm muscle beneath his skin. The hunter felt his desire begin to focus itself, and very soon he was in an unbearable state of arousal. Carl was in a similar state of passionate delirium. This ardent physical ecstasy countered the rational fears lurking in the backs of their minds, driving away thoughts concerning the consequences of their actions—all that mattered to them right now was each other.

Van Helsing sat up on his knees and hurriedly tore off his shirt, popping one or two of the buttons that were still fastened before he madly began to fumble with his belt. Carl, in the meantime, grabbed the hem of his robes and pulled the cumbersome garments over his head, tossing them to the floor. His undershirt suffered a similar fate, and though the friar's chest was still wrapped in bandages, it still was better than those suffocating vestments.

Van Helsing had whipped off his belt and thrown it aside, and was in the process of working the front of his trousers free when Carl couldn't stand it any longer and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him down once more. Gabriel settled between the friar's bended knees and relished the heat radiating off of what little bare skin was exposed; Carl kissed the man hungrily, fingers locked in his unruly brown hair so that he could not pull away easily.

For a while they lay entwined, hips grinding against one another's as their love reached fever pitch. It was a noisome business, between the moans and the sighs and the sharp cries when they managed to touch each other just right. It was also maddening to be so near completion and still separated by cloth.

Gabriel broke the kiss with a wet gasp and, pressing his lips to the young man's ear, begged in an ardent whisper, "Carl, I must put it in. I cannot stand it any longer."

The friar blinked slowly, blue eyes dark and dilated, and stared at the ceiling above. "In my robes there is a vial. You'll need it."

Van Helsing pulled away and leaned over the bed, rifling through the clothes on the floor until at last he found a small bottle, marked with crucifixes and looking to be a vessel for a holy liquid. Sitting back on the mattress, he gazed at the vial and then down at the breathless, gorgeous blond man lying on the bed before him like a sacrificial offering.

"Anointment oil?" he asked.

Carl nodded and bit his lower lip.

Van Helsing sighed almost sadly. "We are going to Hell for this."

"Perhaps." The friar sat up and stroked the man's stubbly jaw with his fingertips. "But, looking on the brighter side of things… at least we'll burn together." He offered a worried, helpless smile and pressed a chaste kiss to Gabriel's lips.

The hunter wrapped one arm around Carl's narrow shoulders and held him close. "I love you," he said.

The young man closed his eyes. "Then show me."

And so Gabriel van Helsing did. And when he ceased to be himself and became part of the one whom he loved, he never felt so happy and so complete in his life. The shards of memories meant nothing to him any longer, for he saw the present, he saw his future, and Carl was in it. And there was love as well, _his_ love, and that was really all that mattered anymore. So long as he was there, he had a purpose and a role; a home and a family. And he would defend it to his last breath.

"Ah… ahnnh!" cried Carl in the throes of climax, with his legs wrapped around Gabriel as the man thrust again and again, and finally, amidst guttural moans, spilled his seed inside him.

Ten minutes beforehand they had been engaged in playful quarrel—now they lay gasping for breath in each other's arms, their minds spinning as they came down off the high of sexual zenith. And, despite the warmth and stuffiness in the room, Carl clung to Van Helsing as if he were the only certain thing left in his life anymore; the assumption wasn't that far from the truth.

"I'm sorry." The hunter broke the silence with a gentle apology. "I didn't mean to… in you. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Carl replied, his cheek pressed against Van Helsing's breast. "It will remedy itself."

An intimate pause followed.

"So what happens now?" the man asked softly, trailing his fingers through the friar's dishevelled locks.

"We must return to the Vatican," Carl answered in a breathy voice. "Speak nothing of… this. Clear your name, pretend that nothing happened."

"I'm not good at pretending."

"Humour me, Gabriel… please."

The man stared at the ceiling blankly. "I am not willing to discard you, and I will not be parted from you. By the Church or by God Himself. I would not use you so shamefully and then leave as if you were a common harlot."

Carl propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Van Helsing. "I understand, and I thank you for your devotion, but if they ever find out what we've done… it could be the end of both our careers."

"And what would be so terrible about that?"

"Gabriel, please don't be like this."

"Enlighten me then."

The young man sat up and looked askance, as if he were ashamed. "I know I'm far from perfect, far from chaste, far from being the holy man I once hoped to be, but I have spent my life in service to God… and if I were to lose the means to serve Him, then I would lose my reason to be. I… I'd have nothing."

When he turned his face towards Van Helsing, there were tears in his eyes. "Being stripped of my title and cast out of the Church would destroy me. But I knew this when I loved you, and I know it now, and still I will lay with you."

Van Helsing frowned with confusion. "But… _why_?"

"Because… w-when you made love to me, for some... strange reason, I felt closer to God than I have ever felt before." Carl found his lover's hand and threaded their fingers together. "And while no human being would ever be able to understand or accept this, I know in my heart that it cannot be wrong. That is why you must keep our secret, Gabriel. You must, for both our sakes."

Van Helsing sighed and lifted their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to Carl's fingers. "All right," he agreed. "For both our sakes."

† † †

Cardinal Jinette paced his office with slow deliberation, often glancing at the ornate clock hanging on the wall and alternating gazes out of the windows. There was a soft rap at the door, and then the sentry announced that Cardinal Ruggero wished to have a word. Jinette waved him in, and took a seat behind his desk as the white-haired man entered the room.

"I take it they've not found Carl, have they?" Jinette sighed.

"No," said Ruggero, seating himself in one of the chairs. "It appears as though he has left the Vatican entirely."

Jinette rubbed his temple tiredly. "Why, Carl? What possessed you to do this?"

"Perhaps he is frightened and confused," Ruggero offered. "The boy was obviously intimidated at the prospect of meeting with us; I am certain he will return by tomorrow or the next day."

"If he had nothing to hide, he would never have run away," Jinette murmured. "Only the guilty flee before judgment."

Ruggero raised an eyebrow. "So you believe this proves your suspicions?"

"This proves nothing," Jinette replied, "except that Carl harbours a secret which he fears will be found out, perhaps one that is endangering himself and others. Such secrets are not permitted here, and I resolve to find the truth in this matter… by whatever means necessary."

_To Be Continued in Chapter VII_


	7. Chapter VII

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**VII.**

Carl opened his eyes and sat up, fully and completely awake. The customary fuzziness that wrapped itself around his head upon rising at dawn was absent, and in its stead was a refreshing feeling of clarity. He hadn't remembered sleeping so well in years.

He stretched happily and regarded the room: the shutters were closed and only the barest amount of morning light shone through the slats in bright slivers. Upon further inspection, Carl noticed that he was alone. He glanced about in search of some sign of Van Helsing, but the man's coat and hat were gone.

The friar sighed heavily and fell back against the pillow, which crinkled oddly beneath him. Reaching behind his head, Carl pulled out the small piece of paper that had been lying on the pillow. It was a note, written in Van Helsing's slanted scrawl:

_Good morning.  
__Hope your dreams were pleasant. Have gone to get breakfast, will return shortly. Keep the bed warm for me?  
-__Gabriel_

_P.S. Ego amo te._

Carl smiled despite himself and held the note to his still-bandaged chest, sighing lightly. "_Ego amo te_," he said. _I love you._ And then he suddenly laughed, freely and without a care; he was happier than he could ever recall in his entire life.

Paying no heed to keeping the bed warm, the friar crawled out from beneath the itchy coverlet and splashed some water on his face, pulled on his clothes, and began to pack the labouratory equipment away in anticipation of their return to the Vatican. But as he was collecting the small glass vials of Van Helsing's blood samples, he noticed something odd about them: they were still dark.

Carl held two similar vials up to the light, just to be certain it wasn't the dimness of the room affecting his vision. It had nothing to do with the light, he soon discovered—the blood was as dark as it had been when it was first drawn. Carl knew it was suspicious because blood –once out of the body and exposed to oxygen– turned bright red. Yet these samples appeared as they would if they had just been administered, or if they were still running through Van Helsing's veins.

The peculiarities didn't end there: Carl gave a shake to the vials and watched the liquid blood coat the inside of the glasses and then form droplets. That also was impossible; it should be congealed by this time. Several hours had lapsed since the procedure, and the blood should have begun the process of drying and solidifying. But it hadn't. It was still viscous and… _living_.

"Perhaps traces of an anti-coagulant were in the bottles?" Carl muttered to himself, trying to be rational. However, a feeling in the pit of his stomach made him doubt that whatever was happening with these samples was anything other than paranormal.

A knock at the door jarred him from his pondering, and he quickly stuffed the vials into a sack and went to the door. He lifted the latch and Gabriel van Helsing smiled at him from in the hallway.

"Notice I used the door this time," he said pointedly, and Carl leaned against the frame, shaking his head helplessly.

"You're a madman," the friar sighed, but he was grinning lopsidedly.

"No, just mad about you. Speaking of madness, I couldn't remember if you took one lump or two in your tea, so I put in one and a half." Van Helsing passed a cup of steaming tea into Carl's hands and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"You broke a lump of sugar in half?" the young man asked incredulously. "Just to be precise?"

"No. I was hoping you wouldn't ask any questions about it and think I was incredibly courteous."

"Van Helsing, really…"

"Would you please stop calling me that, it's ridiculous," said Gabriel, leaning down to deliver an unexpected kiss to Carl's lips.

"_Oh_," the friar said breathlessly. "My. Very well then. Gabriel."

The man smiled and removed his hat, shrugging off his coat. "The inn doesn't do much in the ways of meals, but I found some Italian rye, which, if I recall from a certain rant about 'proper English breakfasts', goes quite well with marmalade… Carl?"

The friar had been standing still, gazing at his paramour with worried eyes. "Gabriel," he said deliberately, "are you feeling all right?"

Van Helsing's concern was apparent, though not for his own behalf. "Why? Are _you_ all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but…" Carl trailed off, wondering if he ought to give another reason for worry when the both of them already had quite a worrisome day ahead. "…nothing. Everything is fine."

Gabriel put his hand on Carl's arm. "Are you sure? If there is something you need to tell me..."

The friar exhaled and feigned a cheery grin. "How about that breakfast?"

† † †

It was shortly after midday when a young, spectacled priest burst through the doors of Cardinal Jinette's office and charged to the desk breathlessly—Jinette rose to his feet in alarm.

"Father Marcus? What-"

"Your Grace," the man panted. "I was sent to summon you."

"Summon me? By whom?"

"Van Helsing," said the priest quietly, almost as if he didn't quite believe it himself. "He appeared on the steps not five minutes past, and the missing friar is with him. They wish to see you immediately. They're-"

But the Cardinal was already hurrying from of his office.

† † †

Van Helsing and Carl were waiting anxiously in the main sanctuary of the cathedral. The afternoon light shone down through the stained glass windows and cast rainbows of colour across the marble floor. Van Helsing winced in disdain and pulled his hat down to shadow his eyes.

"I don't recall it ever being so bright in here," he muttered. "I'll have to start wearing tinted eyeglasses like a blind man if they don't put up some curtains."

"Are your eyes always this sensitive?" Carl asked worriedly.

"Not really. It's just this damned _light_…"

The friar held his tongue and turned to the side, nursing a deepening sense of apprehension. He didn't have very long to fester in doubts, for into view came the figure of a rapidly approaching cardinal with a small crowd of chattering clerics following behind him.

"Here we go," Van Helsing whispered sarcastically. "My, but he looks angry."

"I knew it. I _knew_ this was a bad idea," Carl quietly moped. "He's going to kill us both."

"Gabriel van Helsing!" Jinette thundered upon his approach, and the two younger men visibly cringed. "I cannot _wait_ to hear your explanation for all of this. Two _months_ missing! The whole Vatican feared your demise, so please, _do_ tell us where you have been in the meantime."

A quick look passed between Carl and Van Helsing, their resolve reflecting in each other's eyes.

"Your Grace," said the hunter gently, "I apologise for any troubles I have caused. I was delayed in Frederiksborg for a time where I encountered a nasty pair of demons. I managed to destroy one of them but the other –a succubus– escaped into the wilderness. I was tracking her for weeks through nothing but forest, and when I managed to find and defeat her, I was many days' travel from the nearest town. When I finally reached civilisation again, I wasted no time in letters or telegrams. I came here as quickly as I could."

Jinette seemed to be satisfied by Van Helsing's excuse, though grudgingly. "I shall expect a full report by tomorrow, no details minced, are we clear? These things require documentation, especially when dealing with demons."

Van Helsing nodded with equal reluctance, looking a trifle aggravated; he pulled his hat down farther as the Cardinal then set his searing gaze upon a faint-looking young friar.

"And _you_, Carl Benjamin, you ought to count yourself as blessed for not being excommunicated from the Church altogether. Why did you run away?"

"I…" Carl gulped. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I was going to lose my mind if I had to spend the rest of my life not knowing if Van Helsing were living or dead. So I… I decided to search for the truth myself. I set out to find him, but instead he found me. It was…"

"Miraculous," finished Van Helsing. "As if it were meant to be. I found him just this morning, and we both came here as fast as we could manage."

A brief silence fell, and both Van Helsing and Carl waited with dread and anticipation as Cardinal Jinette mused over their story, testing its weight and looking each of them in the eye.

"Very well," he said finally. "My colleagues and I will discuss this matter later. However, this does not mean that either of you are excused from your reckless actions. Your absences have disrupted the Order and thrown operations off balance, but now that I know you are both alive and still of some use to us, you must work quickly to make up for lost time. Van Helsing, I want you in my office at six this evening for a mission briefing-"

"But I just-"

"Do not start. For once I have no patience to argue with you. You will be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. Carl, your services are needed in the labouratory. Friar Dominic has a list started, so see him for details. You will be outfitting the supplies for this new mission, given your area of expertise. On a similar note, the entire team of chemists have fallen behind without you, and I expect you to be caught up within the week. Now then." The Cardinal clapped his hands together, looking much better than he previously had. "I suggest you two catch some rest while you can. You have a long week ahead of you, and you both look like you've been dragged through all nine circles of Hell. You know where the baths are—I suggest you use them."

"Is that all? Are you finished?" Van Helsing asked dourly.

"No." Jinette rested a hand on the hunter's shoulder and looked as if he could almost smile. "Welcome back to life, Gabriel. You were sorely missed."

Unable to stop himself, Van Helsing turned his head to gaze at Carl. "I know," he said quietly. "It's good to be alive again."

† † †

Walking the empty corridor down to the barracks, the two men were greatly relieved that they had escaped their ordeal with Cardinal Jinette without any major psychological scarring, and the fact that Carl was able to abstain from having a nervous breakdown was very comforting; he was still trembling, however.

"I hope he believed all that rubbish about your mission," he said, twiddling his fingers restlessly as they went down the hall. "Given the fact that he thinks me to be out of my mind, I'm sure he would believe even the craziest story if it were coming from me. You, on the other hand…"

"Well, he was unusually merciful, don't you think?" Van Helsing asked as they both arrived at his quarters.

"He actually thought you were dead," said Carl without much animation as the door closed behind him. "They all did, even myself, once. You forget about being angry with someone when you find them alive, you know."

"Really? He didn't seem too hesitant about saddling me with a new mission."

"Don't glower, Gabriel. He was glad to see you and you know it."

"That I do, seeing as how I am his favourite beast of burden. He probably missed me as much as a farmer misses his mule. But you," Van Helsing tossed his bag onto the narrow bed in the corner, "I sensed he was kinder to."

"Jinette doesn't have favourites—he dislikes everybody equally," Carl said frankly.

The hunter was silent for a moment, his expression troubled. "I worry for you around him. It seemed as if he was only too eager to get us back to our jobs and separate us as quickly as possible."

"Gabriel, please…" the friar implored softly.

"Carl, I don't want you to be forced to run away again if they come at you with their mind games," he said firmly. "I don't want to return from this next mission and find out that you've been 'relocated', or worse, brainwashed. When you're with me I can protect you from anything: vampires, monsters, werewolves… but when you're down in the lab, and I'm off traipsing around some God-forsaken land, there is nothing I can do for you."

The friar stepped close and grasped Van Helsing's weathered hands in his own. "You can love me," he said, staring into the hazel eyes. "That will be protection enough."

Gabriel sighed heavily. "It's ironic," he said, reaching out to brush the blond locks from Carl's eyes, "how the Vatican has become a dangerous place to us now."

"At least we can still protect each other while we're here."

Silence fell. They slipped into a gentle embrace, both holding onto one another and at the same time holding each other upright. Their strengths –intellectual and physical– helped them to find courage in one another, while their weaknesses only fortified their desires to overcome the strife and adversity that they knew they would soon be facing.

"How I love you," Gabriel murmured softly, pressing his nose into the tousled hair of his only true friend. "Why it took me so long to realise escapes me."

Carl squeezed him tightly and then slowly drew away. "We ought to rest while we have the chance."

"Why? Are you tired?"

"No. But I wouldn't cite last night as a fine example of quality sleep, either."

"Why rest when we have more important things to do?"

"Because it is natural to rest and we probably need to, regardless of how we feel."

"Seems like a waste of time to me—we should be doing something productive."

"What did you have in mind?"

Gabriel pulled Carl close and murmured huskily, "Consummation." And then he caught the friar's mouth in a heated kiss that lasted much longer than Carl intended; he broke the kiss and gasped for breath.

"We-we're in a church," he stammered as the skilled hands began to work their way beneath his robes. "_The_ Church. The Church of all churches-"

"Technically, we're under it," replied Gabriel playfully.

"In, under, above; whatever the preposition, it doesn't matter!"

"I think it does. And I think you would enjoy quite a few of them."

Carl narrowly avoided being pinned to the wall and instead tripped over a large carriage trunk and landed on the worst possible object he could have imagined: the bed. He had scarcely enough time to roll over on his back before Van Helsing was crawling onto the mattress, already removing his shirt.

"Ahn, please… Gabriel," he begged as the man began to assault his mouth with passion-drenched kisses. "This. Isn't right. If somebody sees-"

"Do you really want me to stop?" he asked, gazing intensely into a pair of blue eyes.

The young friar grimaced in agony, wishing that the question had never been asked, for he knew the answer well enough: "No. No, I don't want you to stop. Never-"

The feverish burn of arousal that had been building inside of him and was repressed only by what little sense he had left abruptly crumbled like the Tower of Babel; he sprang up and grabbed Gabriel's shoulders, twisted himself around like a limber cat, and rolled the larger man down onto the bed in a surprising turn of dominance. He sat astride Van Helsing's thighs as he stripped his robes off as quickly as he could, and then leaned down to receive the love that was being given to him.

It was one thing to make love under the discreet cover of darkness, and quite another to do it in broad daylight in a sanctified place, with light shining through the window and illuminating what night had hidden. Yet even Van Helsing dared not to wince in the alarming brightness, his eyes riveted in amazement as he watched Carl's lean, sweat-glazed body sway and stretch erotically above him as their flesh united for the second time.

"God I love you," Carl moaned as he rocked himself upon Gabriel's hips with a tortured, delirious expression of desire on his flushed face. "I love you so much… so much."

Van Helsing watched the steady movements of their union, and knew that Carl was risking everything he had –in both this world and the next– just by loving him. It was a sacrifice that the hunter knew not how he could ever fully repay, but he would try his damnedest.

Gabriel reached up to take Carl in his hand, stroking him rhythmically and hoping that they weren't making too much noise. All thoughts of suspicious sounds were soon forgotten, however; Carl reached his climax first, spilling himself in Van Helsing's hand. The man soon followed, and Carl was forced to bite the back of his own wrist to keep himself from screaming.

The room was hot by this time, ripe with the musky scent of sweat and sex. The young man crawled off of his lover and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily in the heat. The wet stickiness of Van Helsing's release still greased his thighs, and he brushed his hair back off of his forehead in a useless attempt to cool himself.

"We shouldn't have done this," he said softly after a while.

Gabriel sat up and kissed the bandages still covering one shoulder. "Don't say that. I started it."

"Yes, but I finished it. I shouldn't have. I just… couldn't seem to rationalise." Carl rubbed his face in a gesture of confusion. "I don't know what came over me."

"_Luna amour_," Gabriel said in jest, nuzzling the friar's neck. "Love makes lunatics of us all, or so I heard a brilliant man say once."

"That 'brilliant man' is also a fine idiot," said Carl, turning halfway to briefly kiss Van Helsing. "And he could really do with a bath about now."

† † †

To avoid any unwanted attention, Carl left Van Helsing's room and stole away to the baths while the hunter remained behind. The friar had fleetingly considered burning his clothes to hide any evidence of sexual activities –particularly the odour and dried fluids– but he had already worn the robes down and gotten the fabric to where it was soft and comfortable, and he didn't feel like breaking in another set of vestments. Besides, if he put in a request for a new set of clothes, people would wonder what happened to the old ones, and they would only fall for the "acid burns and flash fires" excuse so many times.

Though the baths were public, they were not often in use during this time of day. Carl was grateful that he was the only one present, yet still sought a stall far away from the door. He drew the water from a pump and filled the small tub, but did not bother lighting the coals to warm it; he was still incredibly feverish from his recent encounter and would likely welcome a douse of cold water.

He stripped off his robes and then set to work unwinding the gauze bandages from around his chest, until the last bloodstained strip had fallen at his feet. Not wishing to irritate the wounds by inspecting them, Carl simply climbed into the tub and began to wash. The water was indeed cold, but it was a satisfying sensation against his back, which hardly stung at all anymore. The wounds must have finally scabbed over, he thought.

Once he had finished, Carl towelled off, pulled the drain plug, and wrapped himself in a loose-fitting robe. He gathered up the bandages and his dirty clothes and made his way out of the bath room and towards his own quarters, thankfully encountering nobody along the way.

He should have suspected something was wrong when he noticed his door was ajar, but he ignored the instincts screaming at him and walked into his room.

A priest stood beside Carl's bed, dressed in his customary black cassock and white collar. He was tall and narrow, his complexion pale, and his unusually light hair and eyes gave him a ghostly quality. He was in his late thirties, but the fairness of his face made him appear not much older than Carl. He seemed to have been waiting for him, for he smiled in a disconcerting way upon seeing the friar stop in his tracks.

"Good afternoon, Carl," he said in a thin, suspiciously kind voice. "I am Father Bertolli. Do come in, won't you? And please shut the door, there's a good lad."

Carl felt his stomach lurch, and he fought his own desire to turn around and run as fast as he could. But sensibility was a demanding master, and so Carl obediently shut the door behind him and clutched his dirty robes tightly to him, avoiding the priest's gaze.

"You can come closer," he said in a coaxing manner. "I'm not going to bite. I just want to talk to you for a moment. Cardinal Jinette requested that I speak to you privately about your… recent troubles. Don't worry, Carl. I'm not your enemy." Bertolli smiled sharply, as if trying to assure his good intentions.

The friar reluctantly came forth with his head bowed and heart pounding, and kept his eyes averted as if the man were a basilisk. "What do you wish to speak to me about, Father?" he asked haltingly.

"Well, there is the matter of your recent mutiny and some rather insubordinate behaviour, but let's not trouble ourselves with such negative conversation just yet. I am personally glad to see you've returned. How are you feeling?"

"Well enough," said Carl, pretending to be interested in the stitches of his dirty robes.

"And how is Van Helsing? You must be relieved to have him back."

"Aren't we all?"

Bertolli chuckled. "We surely must be. I heard that his disappearance last month threw you into a state of mourning." His tone became soft. "I understand that you have worked closely with each other for the past few years, and your success on your last mission is something to be admired."

"People died, Father," Carl said as brazenly as he could get away with. "Good people, innocent people. I hardly look at it as a success."

"And you shouldn't, as a man of God," Bertolli said, taking a seat in a nearby chair. "It must have been a tragedy to witness such terrible events."

"I can live with the nightmares. They're not as dangerous as werewolves."

"Indeed," the priest laughed. "It was a good thing that Van Helsing was there to protect you."

"He didn't protect me all the time," Carl said hastily. "We looked out for each other. B-but only as colleagues do, mind you."

"I understand. That is a good thing to have in the field, camaraderie. Trust, as well. Not many in the abbey can say the same of Van Helsing. He is a troubled man, don't you think?"

"He is the same as any of us," Carl defended. "He is a man with a questionable past, as many people have."

"And what of _yours_, Carl?" Bertolli said sharply. "What of your past?"

"What has my past got to do with Van Helsing?"

"I don't know—that is why I'm asking."

"I don't understand you."

"What is Van Helsing to you, Carl? Is he your friend, or isn't he? Surely you must know-"

"Yes, he is my friend!" the friar snapped, beginning to feel the burn of these heated questions pouring forth. "We are friends and nothing more."

"Nothing more?" Bertolli feigned surprise. "Now why would you say something like that?"

"I…" Carl lost his words as he realised that he had fallen into the priest's psychological trickery; the seemingly harmless banter had now become an interrogation, and Carl doubted his abilities to defend himself from a man who knew every trick in the book.

"I never implied that you and Van Helsing were anything more than associates," Bertolli said innocuously. "Unless, of course… that isn't the truth."

"That is the truth, Father. We have only ever been comrades."

"Is that so? Look, Carl, I may be a holy man but I am still a man. I know of these 'phases' that young men like yourself sometimes go through, and it is quite normal to be attracted to another man, especially an older one who becomes a source of emulation; Van Helsing is obviously your role model, someone you both admire and respect, a male figure that acts as a replacement for the father you never knew."

Carl's blood boiled with sudden ferocity. "Don't mention my father again," he warned.

"Why not?" Bertolli countered, rising from his chair. "Are the childhood memories of an unwed mother too unpleasant to recall? Do you remember how badly you wished for a father, how much the other children taunted you for being a bastard?"

"Stop it," Carl whispered, backing towards the wall.

Whatever kindness Bertolli had pretended to have was gone now, replaced by the ruthlessness that had been waiting to unleash itself. "Do you remember how desperate you were to join the Church, Carl? To be among respected men who could guide you through life? Those who called themselves 'Brother' and 'Father'? It was what you had always wanted, wasn't it? To have a real, functioning family."

"Yes," Carl choked, clutching his robes tightly and reliving his early years with every ounce of sorrow and desperation brought to life once more.

Bertolli revelled briefly in his triumph. "But that wasn't enough, was it? You just couldn't be satisfied with what you had been dealt; you needed to attach yourself to a single man, your father figure, and you found that in Van Helsing. You live to impress him, and you want only to make him proud and happy-"

"It's not like that, I sw-"

"-and you would do anything he asked of you, is that right! You knew he was troubled when you first met him!"

"We both have pasts that haunt us!" cried Carl. "We could relate to each other! We-"

"And you took advantage of his weakness! You loved him, you _fell_ in love with him, didn't you? You have been deceiving the good, honest people here, mocking the Church that took you in and showed you kindness while you entertain your filthy lifestyle-"

"I would never do that!" the friar exclaimed raggedly, tears coursing their way down his cheeks as he pressed his back against the wall.

But the priest was merciless in his verbal assault. "And when you feared your lover to be dead, the sensibility you had lost during your affair with Van Helsing came back to you, and you saw the truth, saw that you had defiled yourself beyond salvation, and so you tried to atone for your despicable actions. You flogged yourself until you were sickened, you punished the flesh that had delivered you into sin in an attempt to free your soul!"

"No, no, no," Carl moaned, shaking his head and sinking down to the floor, allowing Bertolli to tower over him like a mountain.

"And when Van Helsing came back, it started all over again, didn't it? Only this time worse than it had been before. You give yourself to him regularly, don't you? I wouldn't put seduction past you, either. I can see the shame in your eyes, Carl, you hopeless sodomite. Anything to please your idol, is that it? Or do you simply prefer to lay with men?"

The friar bit his lip and shut his eyes tightly, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him right into Hell where he knew he must belong. Above him, Bertolli snorted in disgust.

"Enough of this nonsense," he snapped, and grabbed Carl by the arm. "On your feet, friar. No use in snivelling on the floor like a coward—learn to face it like a man, if you can remember how to be one again, of course. Hello, what is this?"

The priest's eyes caught sight of the bandages covered in dry blood, and snatched them from Carl's hands.

"I see I was correct about you flogging yourself. Did Van Helsing help wrap the evidence of your sins again? Hide them away from sight… well, I am no fool, Carl. Disrobe immediately."

Carl looked up in horror, and met with Bertolli's calculating stare. "B-but I… you-"

"Remove your clothes now, or so help me, you will never see Gabriel van Helsing again."

Stifling a sob, the young man dropped his dirty clothes and untied the belt of his robe—it slid from his shoulders and landed in a crumpled heap around his ankles. He closed his eyes and prayed for mercy, though he could practically feel the priest's smouldering gaze roam over his bare flesh like a ravaging horde of barbarians.

"Turn around," came the sharp order, and Carl obeyed.

A long silence followed, and the friar could just imagine the look on Bertolli's face –pleased, no doubt– to see the scabbing red stripes crisscrossing across his back. But Carl was shocked when he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder blade, sliding painlessly across his skin and following the curve of his spine.

"F-Father Bertolli?" he asked, and then felt the hand leave him; he turned around and saw the priest staring at him with eyes that were both suspicious and astounded.

"I don't know how you did it," he said in a barely audible murmur, "but I am going to find out. And when I have enough evidence against you, Mr Benjamin, you are not going to be the only one facing penalties from the Church, but also that monster-hunting vagabond of yours. May I also add: if you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I can arrange another one of your disappearing acts, only this time it will be permanent. Watch yourself carefully, friar. These walls have eyes and ears."

With those threatening words spoken, the priest turned and left the room, shutting the door loudly. Carl stood stock still for a few moments before collapsing to his knees and sobbing hoarsely into his hands. He did not care that he was still nude, but tried valiantly to calm himself after the frightening, horrific ordeal he had just endured. He was still trembling by the time he managed to crawl to his feet and clear his eyes of the tears.

It was at this moment that he caught sight of his reflection in the shabby old mirror propped up on his writing desk; clerics were not usually permitted to own mirrors as it was taken as a sign of vanity, but Carl had been able to get away with it on his excuse that his room was particularly dim and that it was more cost efficient to reflect light from the window than to burn candles.

The young man's mouth fell agape, and he hesitantly approached the mirror, turning slowly around so that he could gaze sidelong at his back.

There was not a mark on him. The wounds that should have scarred him for life had vanished without a trace, and his skin was as new and untouched as if he had never been abused at all.

"Oh God," he murmured, staring at his unmarred flesh with no joy in his voice whatsoever. "Tell me this isn't happening."

_To Be Continued in Chapter VIII_


	8. Chapter VIII

**Luna Amour  
****Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Pairing:** Van Helsing/Carl  
**Rating:** T+  
**Summary:** All is bad that ends worse; after Van Helsing and Carl return to Vatican City, the legendary hunter discovers that he did not leave Romania empty handed—he brought a disease back with him that is endangering the lives of everyone around him, and only Carl can help him find an antidote.  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters, events, original storyline, etc belong to Universal Studios 2004.  
**A/N:** This is my first _Van Helsing_ fanfiction. Enjoy if you can, critique if you must, and review if you would so kindly.

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._  
1 Corinthians 13:6-7

**VIII.**

Evening settled over Vatican City, and six o'clock found Gabriel van Helsing standing awkwardly in Cardinal Jinette's office, though looking clean and somewhat groomed after his dishevelled appearance earlier that day. He watched Jinette alternate between pacing and the floor and tapping a conductor's baton against the large map of Europe hanging from a bookshelf as he briefed the huntsman on his newest mission.

"Fortunately this assignment does not extend beyond the country, at least not yet," the Cardinal said crisply as he stabbed the baton into northern Italy. "We received information this morning of a disturbance in Turin, a city a few hundred miles northwest of Rome. However, Turin was not alone in its claims of supernatural activity; an investigation of the surrounding area led us to a trail that extended as far as Austria-Hungary, and several accounts from the citizens of these eastern kingdoms described the entity in question as a vampire."

"Vampire?" Van Helsing echoed. "That can't be possible. I killed Dracula with my own two hands, therefore everything created by him –including other vampires, directly or otherwise– ought to have been destroyed."

"Well, apparently you have been mistaken," Jinette muttered, "unless this is some madman's sick idea of a prank. There is one interesting note that I should mention: the supposed 'victims' of the vampire all survived."

Van Helsing looked stunned. "All of them? Have they given testimony?"

The Cardinal passed to him a sheet of paper on which was written a long queue of names. "We were able to catalogue each of the victims, who are described as having partially-healed wounds on their bodies consistent with the familiar bite pattern of a vampire. The culprit is believed to be heading south, though no idea was given about its means of transport or how fast it might be travelling. It has been noticed, however, that this creature has stopped in every major city tracing as far east as Budapest, almost as if it were systematically searching for something."

"Or someone," Van Helsing muttered, standing to his feet and putting the paper on Jinette's desk. "A solitary vampire, and a survivor no less, is something I can't quite understand. They seldom travel alone, and they certainly don't leave victims alive to tell their stories."

"The Order is vexed by this as well, which is why we are sending you to find this creature, considering that you have been dubbed the unofficial authority on vampire slaying and have extensive experience in this line of business."

"Really," murmured the unofficial authority on vampire slaying with a raised eyebrow.

"Carl has been assigned to equip you as he too now carries a level of expertise in dealing with the undead."

"Will he be accompanying me on this mission?"

"Certainly not," Jinette huffed. "He has far too many tasks to complete here, and it is not as if this assignment is particularly far away or dangerous; if you leave tonight, then that is all the sooner you can be back to… distract him." The Cardinal gave Van Helsing a sidelong glance, though there was no hostility apparent in his demeanor. Regardless, the hunter quickly wanted to avert the subject before it could linger into unfriendly territory.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Yes, that is all. Here is the paperwork—you should let Carl take a glance at it to get an idea of what provisions you'll require, and it might be wise to bring it along in case you need details. But if you think your memory is still working properly…"

"I get the pun," Van Helsing said with an acidic smile, and took the papers from Jinette. "And don't harass Carl about the Denmark assignment while I'm gone. If you want to discuss my forgetfulness, I suggest finding someone a little less tedious."

"Was that a threat?" the Cardinal inquired.

"No. It was a request." Van Helsing met Jinette's eyes, hoping that he was getting his point across clearly. "He is still in a delicate state of mind, and I don't want officials traumatising him with questions while he's recovering."

"I see." The Cardinal bowed his head slightly and looked somewhat melancholy. "Has he professed his devotion to you yet?"

Van Helsing swallowed. "He has," he said evenly, unable to lie so readily to the man whom he knew did all things with only the best intentions.

Jinette nodded solemnly, as if he had anticipated the answer all along. "And have you accepted it?"

The hunter was aware of what he was truly asking, and he replied with, "I have."

The Cardinal released a long sigh and rubbed his bushy grey eyebrows as he stared at Van Helsing. "Remember that he is young, Gabriel, and whatever is done to him now will echo in his future. See that he is… kept safe."

Van Helsing put on his hat and turned to leave. "I can only protect him from the Church for so long, Your Grace. The rest is up to you."

† † †

Workers in the labouratory could not help but to stare and chatter as Van Helsing made his way among them with an aloofness that only a man of his rugged character could accomplish. The hunter smiled to himself in amusement as he caught pieces of incredulous conversation between priests, rabbis and imams who never expected to see him alive again. However, nobody seemed willing to offer up a polite 'welcome back', almost as if they suspected him of being a ghost returning to haunt the Order; fortunately one cheerful _chazzan_ held no fear of ghosts.

"I knew you would pull through somehow, Mr Van Helsing," Daniel Cohen grinned behind his Yankee accent. "The whole lab has been buzzing like a hive ever since we heard about your arrival this afternoon. I'm glad to see you've made it back in one piece."

"So am I, Danny," said Gabriel, flashing a fleeting smile. "You wouldn't happen to know where I can find Carl, do you? It's rather urgent—I'm leaving on business again."

"So soon? _Oy_, you've got to put in a request for a vacation sometime, otherwise Carl might lose his mind being stuck here with the rest of us." Daniel chuckled at his own joke and pointed across the labouratory. "He's right over there, calculating equations that the chemistry committee couldn't seem to figure in two month's time. The fellow has a head for numbers, I'll give him that much."

The hunter smiled as he caught sight of a familiar tousle of blond hair over the glass chimneys of beakers and pipettes. "Right. Thanks, Dan."

"Feh! Don't mention it."

Van Helsing removed his hat and made his way across the lab. "Good evening, Carl," he greeted as he approached the friar's paper-cluttered work desk.

"And to you, Van Helsing," came the formal reply as the young man sat busy writing complicated looking formulas onto a sheet of paper. "How went the meeting with His Eminence?"

"Unbearable as usual. I've been given a new assignment, and I mean to leave tonight."

Carl's eyes never left the paper, though he began to blink rapidly. "I take it that I won't be going with you."

"Not this time. It's not very far," he added hastily, hoping to keep the friar's spirits high. "Just north, to Turin. There is a philanthropic vampire on the loose and leaving a trail of unhappy blood-donors in his wake, and I've been charged with stopping him before somebody actually scars."

Carl set down his pen and turned to stare at Van Helsing. "Are you serious?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"That's a preposterous mission, not to mention impossible! You destroyed Dracula completely—I don't even think his crumbs are still on the floor of his fortress. How could a vampire walk the earth when the father of vampirism is dead?"

"I'm not certain," said the hunter, "but I mean to find out. What weapons do you suggest I use to combat this undoubtedly sinister threat?"

"Perhaps a decent scarf. I hear it's still rather cold in Turin this time of year."

"That should work; this vampire is less a menace than I am. At least no one can call him a murderer."

"Now, now. Don't start in with the self-abuse," Carl clucked, rising from his bench. "It will do you no good, believe me, I should know." He smiled briefly, but something in his eyes flickered and his cheeriness abruptly evaporated from existence. Van Helsing saw it and was immediately alarmed.

"Carl?" he asked gently. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

Van Helsing lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "Has anyone talked to you?"

"It's not safe to discuss this right now," Carl said, glancing about himself worriedly. "They could be watching us."

"What do they know?"

"Everything, although there is the problem of… disappearing evidence. We're safe for now, but I'm not sure how much longer it will be before they find something they can use against us."

The hunter set his jaw. "That does it. I am not leaving you alone in this place—you're coming with me."

"I don't think that would be very wise, and besides that I've-"

"Damn wisdom! You're not safe here, and I'm not going to allow them to intimidate you at their leisure when I can't protect you."

Carl's rare temper flared suddenly and he snapped, "I am not some willowy damsel in need of rescue, Gabriel—I am a man with a fully-functioning brain in his head, and if you think me weak and stupid, well then, perhaps I should start wearing petticoats and enroll myself in primary school!"

"Carl…" Van Helsing murmured, wounded by his lover's sharp words. "I'm sorry if I've offended you. It was not my intention." He added with a silent motion of his lips, in case they were being listened to: _I love you._

The friar looked guilty for his previous harshness, but he smiled bravely despite the sadness in his eyes. _I love you too_, he mouthed.

Gabriel lifted his hand to touch Carl's cheek, but remembered his place and resisted with a pained expression. "I hate this," he muttered. "I hate what they've done to us, what I've done to you."

"You've done nothing to me. Rather, it's what you've _un_done to me that I find so unsettling."

"What do you mean?"

"Not right now—we'll discuss it once you've returned," said Carl brusquely as he assumed his cheerful façade once more. "Now then. I suppose we should start off the evening with stakes, garlic, and a good vintage of holy water, yes?"

Van Helsing grinned despite himself, always grateful for the friar's undying sense of humour in even the darkest times. "Are you arming me, or taking me out to dinner?"

"If it were the latter, I'd have done it years ago. Unfortunately I'm not quite fond of garlic, except when used as a weapon."

"Ah yes. The dreaded, deadly Garlic Breath of Rome. Greatest natural weapon on earth, or so I've heard. Repels humans _and_ vampires."

Carl laughed lightly, a melodious chime of mirth and unbound happiness, and Gabriel thought it was the most beautiful music in all the world.

† † †

He set out from Vatican City on horseback just as the stars were beginning to glow, equipped with a broad array of weaponry and carrying a heart that grew heavier the farther he rode from the Holy See. Carl had been unable to slip past Dominic to give his good-byes to the huntsman, so they had parted in the lab with meaningful glances and a gentle brush of hands. Even if they had been able to hold each other tightly as if no one were watching, Gabriel doubted it would have ever been enough to ease the pain of separation.

_I would be happy if I never had to leave him again_, he thought as he travelled swiftly through the shadows of the night. _And I would spend my life beside him if only I could._

Van Helsing did not know what it was that drove him to be so protective of those for whom he cared; it had been his nature for as long as he could recall, even in vague memories when he had walked the world without a friend to call his own. It had been ingrained into the fabric of his soul to fight and to protect his fellow man from harm, because it simply felt like it was the thing he had been created to do.

He recognised what was good and what was wicked –as if he had been born with a sixth sense that could detect and judge human character– and some instinct deep within the core of his being reacted to evil, oppression, and injustice. It both revolted and appalled him, and such negative forces were met with Van Helsing's almost reflexive desire to _destroy_.

He cared nothing about defiling himself in the mires of iniquity, so long as he could rout from the world all that was bad and unkind. It was the sole reason why he could never consider himself a holy man, not with his history of reckless violence and willingness to wallow among the damned. However, most theologians failed to realise that Christ did not spend His days shut safely inside a temple with His disciples, but ministering to sinners in brothels and dens where thievery, gambling and unspeakable acts of inhumanness took place. Christ dirtied His hands to save souls, and so did Van Helsing to protect the innocent—at least in this they shared a common ground, though the hunter would never go so far as to compare himself with the Saviour.

As he left behind the crowded streets of Rome and began to enter the countryside, Van Helsing started to feel edgy and anxious, and a quick glance to the sky cited the source. The full moon hung heavily in the blue velveteen firmament, gliding in and out of the clouds with the ominous, hypnotic grace of a cobra. Looking ahead to the open road, moonlight spread itself across the vineyards and drove away all darkness; even the shadows of the tall cypress trees that grew alongside the way offered little relief from the moon's cold radiance.

Van Helsing reined his horse just short of the unsheltered road, and gazed at the pale blue light from the safety of the shade. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the apprehension he was feeling. Why was he acting as if the moon still had control of him? It was ridiculous—he had been cured of the werewolf's curse and it no longer affected him, not even through the slight symptoms he had experienced before his first full moon in Transylvania.

But something about the night still gripped him, and Van Helsing knew it in a sleepy part of his subconscious. There were moments during the dark hours when he seemed to shake his head and suddenly find himself standing in a different place, wondering how he had gotten there. Could it simply be fatigue? Was he coming down with a general illness? Or was there something truly wrong with him?

Whatever it was, it did not make him a coward—the hunter clicked his tongue and urged his steed forward into the light. He slowly rode on, keenly aware of every sensation that ran through his body, searching for something that felt out of place. He felt nothing, and stared up at the bright white orb with narrow eyes, daring its power to strike him. He felt extremely silly for acting so superstitious, and muttered to himself, "No wonder they are called 'lunatics'."

The words had scarcely left Van Helsing's lips when he felt his entire body seize up as a rush of pure adrenaline exploded into his veins. His mind reeled and his heart began to pound fiercely as his very blood seemed to catch fire, and before he could react, his horse had bolted out from under him in terror. The hunter landed gracelessly in the road, sending up a plume of dust as he listened to his steed thunder off into the distance. He sat up just as a second shockwave struck him with full force, and he let out a breathless groan as he felt himself begin to change—but into what, he knew not.

Agonising pain stabbed into his shoulder blades, and he wrenched his off his leather duster with a scream as he heard the fabric of his waistcoat rip. Gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes, he tried to remain calm while his insides moved beneath his skin and his bones began to form a new structure. He felt as if he had descended into Hell itself, so unbearably hot was his body temperature. Thick, needle-sharp claws sprouted from his fingertips, but they were not the claws of a wolf; the whole transformation felt different—more painful and spiritually destructive, as if something in his soul was being torn apart and burned.

"God, please," Van Helsing prayed as his vision began to fade to red, "don't let me…"

† † †

Carl was dozing in the labouratory, hidden behind a thick book he had been reading, when his eyes suddenly flew open and he sprang to his feet with a cry, knocking over his wooden stool and sending a glass beaker flying off of his desk. Without so much as a thought, he reached out and caught it before it could shatter on the floor.

He blinked a few times and his mind returned to him from the comforting realm of sleep. "Well… that was peculiar," he murmured to himself, putting the beaker back on his desk and picking up the fallen stool. "I don't remember falling asleep."

"Most people usually don't," said a voice, and Carl turned to see Friar Dominic staring at him owlishly behind his round glasses.

"Ah, Dom," said Carl sheepishly. "So sorry about that."

"Don't apologise. If I were you I'd have fallen asleep by now as well. I don't know what's so interesting about-" The older friar glanced at the book his colleague had been reading. "-binomial nomenclature, anyway. Why don't you go ahead and turn in for the night, yes? It's late and everyone else has already retired for the evening."

"Right, then. Thank you," said Carl, gathering up his books hastily. "I, ah, suppose I will see you tomorrow?"

"First thing in the morning," Dominic nodded. "The mechanics are having trouble with the new design for the gatling rifle you drew a few weeks ago. Something to do with the firing pins, I think."

"Amateurs," Carl muttered under his breath but disguised it with a smile as he began to make his escape. "Very well," he said loudly, "first thing tomorrow. I'll be right on it. Got to get some rest now, I suppose. Don't want to fall asleep on the clock again, do I?"

"You don't have to stand there and blather, Carl," Dominic said with a shake of his head. "Just say good-night and get out of here."

"Oh. All right. Good-night then!" And the young blond was scurrying off through the lab like an excited mouse who had escaped its cage. He made his way briskly down the corridor, his thoughts engrossed in the strange feeling he had experienced just before he had been jolted awake—as if the part of his brain that registered danger had suddenly started to life and gone full steam ahead. And his first reaction was to suspect that something had happened to Van Helsing.

"Poppycock," he muttered to himself as he turned down the hallway to the abbey barracks. "Psychic abilities are a load of rot. No distinct evidence at all." Of course, Carl recalled, many people thought that homing pigeons were intrinsically psychic creatures, given that they could find their way back to their roosts if dropped hundreds of miles away in an unfamiliar land—Paul Reuters had made himself famous through the use of these birds, and he had been a man of distinction and good standing. He wasn't a raving maniac who professed knowledge of magic or any other form of such ridiculous nonsense.

That was a distinguishing feature about Carl: sensibility. He was certain that there was a scientific explanation for everyone and everything, and that if science couldn't define it, then it didn't really exist. Of course, this mindset clashed somewhat in the fact that he was a firm believer in God, but he was not insecure in either his study of science or theology, for he believed that both worked together as a tool to keep humanity spiritual and at the same time reasonably skeptical. He also believed that if God had not wanted mankind to question their world and how it functioned, then He would not have given them brains and free will, but he was not so bold as to say this to any of his superiours.

The friar carefully approached his bedroom door this time, checking to make certain that no one was waiting for him or that he was to be on the receiving end of an ambush. After a brief inspection, the premises were deemed safe and Carl shut the door behind himself as he walked into his small-but-adequate living quarters; the memory of earlier that afternoon still tainted the atmosphere with feelings of dread and despair, but he set his books on his writing desk and pretended to ignore the dirtiness he felt crawling on his skin.

He went to the battered armoire in the corner and opened the cabinet, revealing an extensive collection of tools, papers, trinkets and unfinished gadgets. Reaching behind a hidden shelf, he pulled out a small rack in which were set each individual vial of blood taken from Van Helsing the previous day. Carl removed one sample and inspected it closely, seeing no signs of changes at all—it was still dark and viscous.

"Aren't you ever going to coagulate?" he asked the blood, giving it a shake before placing it back in its tray and setting it on his desk. "Now then," he murmured in deep thought as he reached for one of the books, "where was that chapter about blood disorders…?"

Carl sat down in the chair with book in hand, licking his thumb and turning through pages for a short while. He tried to concentrate on finding the haematology section where several possible theories were described concerning the peculiarities of Van Helsing's blood tests, but something was nagging at the back of the friar's mind like a persistent street peddler who wouldn't accept 'no' for an answer. He continued to nonchalantly flip through the book until it suddenly hit him like a tidal wave:

He was sitting in the dark.

Carl sprang to his feet and the book slid from his lap, clattering to the floor. This wasn't happening. _It _could _not be happening._ He turned about quickly and saw the unlit lantern hanging in the corner of the room; the shutters were drawn over the narrow window above his bed, allowing no light to creep in. There was no source of illumination to be seen. Anywhere.

The friar held his hands in front of his face and stared at them as if he had never seen fingers before. But he saw them—in pitch blackness. First the disappearing scars, and now the dark-vision.

"Oh God," he breathed, blinking rapidly. "What is happening to me? _Why_ is this happening to me?"

Despite Carl's frenetic distress, bits of memory began to drop into place like pieces of a many-dimensioned puzzle: the dagger wound in Van Helsing's chest that had almost healed completely within a fortnight, his sudden sensitivity to light—whatever strange symptoms the hunter had experienced, Carl was also beginning to display. And through his many years of scientific knowledge, it could only mean one thing: Van Helsing was infected by a strange illness of some unknown origin, and Carl had been contaminated by it as well.

"How could…" he began, but halted himself as his mind answered his own question, recalling ardent images of intimacy, love, and sins of the flesh. The young man was forced to sit down on the edge of his bed, suddenly feeling quite weak in the knees. "Intercourse," he murmured. "That is how I… It was transferred during…"

For several long, silent minutes Carl sat alone in the dark, teetering on a fulcrum between tears and madness with his heart lodged firmly in his throat. He tried to be rational, tried to be methodical, but the one-half of him that felt emotion was screaming at the top of its lungs in a hysterical maelstrom, and he could no longer ignore it: Van Helsing was _not_ all right, and Carl had known this ever since the return from Romania, yet he had refused to acknowledge or accept it—and he would pay the price for being so blindly hopeful, for allowing himself to believe for one _second_ that things could possibly have ended with a 'happily ever after'. He was a fool, and now he had nothing left to do but suffer the consequences.

His love for Gabriel van Helsing had ruined him.

"That's not true," Carl said determinedly to himself, a flutter of something hopeful in his spirit. "It's _not true_. It's not over yet, not as long as science exists and there is still one ounce of love in my heart for him." Tears sprang to his eyes but he was too excited to notice or care; he stood to his feet and grabbed a vial of blood from the tray on his desk.

"I think I understand," he continued, talking hurriedly to himself as he climbed onto his bed. "It's not a disease; it behaves like one, yet doesn't appear to be brought on by bacterial infection. Science can explain it, can't it? Lycanthropy, vampirism… what if they are _not_ paranormal curses, but some form of mutated and highly-evolved disease? Or perhaps something that had the ability to change cells instead of destroy them? That would mean the cure Van Helsing received _wasn't_ some kind of magical potion—it was a vaccine, an _antivenin_. Yes!"

Carl, standing on his bed mattress, excitedly threw open the shutters of his window, which sent slivers of moonlight striking across the wall. "_Luna amour_," he said as he raised the vial of blood into the path of the light. The contents began to react, growing warmer as if being rekindled like a dying flame. The blood began to move of its own accord: shifting, pressing, heating until the glass almost burned. And then the vial abruptly shattered.

The friar jumped with a start as hot blood spattered onto his robes and coated his hand; he was stunned but unharmed, rubbing his slick fingers together as he stared in awe. "So it's true, then." He lifted his eyes to the glow of the moon outside the Vatican. "Love really does make lunatics of us all."

† † †

When Gabriel van Helsing opened his eyes, he was staring at stars. For a moment he felt peace and relief as he gazed listlessly into the quiet eyes of eternity, shining brightly on their celestials spheres so far away that mankind had not yet even begun to conceive their greatness. And then his memory returned to him, assaulting his mind with recollections of excruciating pain in those final seconds before his world had all but been ripped out from beneath him.

The man sat up slowly and beheld what he thought were stars twinkling from below, but as he felt the wind blow through his hair, he realised that it was not stars, but the lights of a beautiful sprawling city. He also perceived that he was very far from the ground, stranded on what appeared to be a large, red-domed roof that he felt he recognised from somewhere. The architecture of the city spread seemed foreign and yet familiar, even in the dark: stony silhouettes of towers with their renaissance-style corners and sweeping arches, cast amidst a sea of glimmering streetlamps.

Van Helsing was deeply troubled by this whole turn of events, and carefully stood to his feet to move away from the steep slope of the dome. He had not travelled far from Rome before he had experienced his attack, and how far was it to the nearest city? Surely several leagues? How could he have covered such a vast distance without a horse, or better yet, how could he have gotten to this colossal height without the aid of wings?

No matter—all he wanted to do was to get his feet on solid ground once more and try to continue his mission, whether or not it was already doomed. Reaching for the grappling gun in his belt, Van Helsing steadied himself against the dome's cupola and searched for something to which he could anchor the line. There was a tall, four-sided tower that looked to be a hundred metres away; taking precise aim, the hunter shot the hook through the top of the open structure and watched with satisfaction as it lodged firmly into the wrought iron lattice work. He secured the other end about the cupola and prepared to make his descent.

Since his great coat and hat were missing from his person, Van Helsing removed his shredded waistcoat –not before relocating his pocket watch to his trousers– and tossed it over the taut wire to use as a runner. Then, taking a deep breath and a sprinting start, he sprang from the dome and sailed down the wire. His waistcoat ripped in half a few seconds before he reached the tower, but fortunately he had enough momentum to smash into the side of the structure several feet below the window.

Holding onto little more than a few jutting inches of ledge, Van Helsing grunted and pulled himself upwards, climbing the rest of the way as easily as if he were a spider. Once safely inside the tower, he took a moment to calm his racing heart and cast a glance behind himself.

"Oh my God," he said softly, recognising the great dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore. "I'm in _Florence_."

Though it was far from possible, being that Florence was over one hundred and fifty miles from Vatican City, Van Helsing was beginning to grow accustomed to things deemed inconceivable by now, and travelling across the county in one night with no recollection at all only vaguely disturbed him. What concerned him at this moment was what he was doing in Florence at all. Had he been drawn here, summoned by some unknown force? Had whatever power that had been controlling him suddenly fled, dropping him onto the roof of a cathedral? Or was he simply losing his mind?

The latter seemed most feasible, the hunter thought with bitter humour, and he followed the stairs down out of the tower. He slipped from the church undetected, and began to wander the city streets aimlessly as he tried to sort his thoughts. What had happened to him back on the road? Had he really transformed, or was it his imagination? Was he experiencing some form of psychological torment brought on by the Romania mission? Was he ever going to be able to function normally ever again, or would he remain scarred by the knowledge that he had once been a part of the very evil against which he fought?

To have known the savagery and wickedness of a werewolf, perhaps one of the most violent creatures of darkness, is to have looked into the smouldering eyes of Hell itself. Was there any redemption from this ruthless venom, or had it never left his veins? Would he remain forever tainted by this horrific memory?

Certainly, Van Helsing had not chosen to become a werewolf of his own free will, but he had willfully endangered the lives of those around him simply by allowing himself to live. But had he ended it in suicide, no blissful afterlife would await him, not that he had ever expected that he would ever be allowed through the Gates anyway; Heaven was reserved for saints and popes, people who had lived lives free from any sort of ugliness that filled the world. Van Helsing knew he was far from either, having taken lives both good and bad and committed some of the worst sins imaginable, including his most recent affair involving a friar and certain carnal acts that had once been grounds for God destroying an entire city.

No, Van Helsing thought mirthlessly, there was no shining light at the end of the tunnel for him. Just torture and fire, or –and this is if he were lucky– absolutely nothing.

Few people were about at this hour, and those that were thankfully showed little interest in an obviously foreign man patrolling their boulevards. Van Helsing himself had to wonder why he was wasting time by mapping this section of the city, but then a notion came creeping to him: he was subconsciously searching, like a prowling beast waiting to catch wind of a scent, the most basic of instincts that perpetuated itself even in mankind. When a human being was troubled or afraid, they would seek comfort any way they could: through familiar smells, gentle touches, soft words.

The hunter couldn't decide if it was solace or evil he was looking for, but he nevertheless decided to follow his instincts. That was when it truly came to him, that _feeling_, like an invisible hand reaching into him and wrapping around his spine, pulling him towards something that he knew was beyond his understanding. He allowed himself to be drawn into alleys and unsavoury shops, pausing to detect if the trail had gone cold. And then he would be off again, searching with greater haste as he perceived himself growing closer to whatever it was that had captured his senses.

A scent had begun to form itself, and now he followed that as well. It was familiar, and inspired in him a feeling of fear and regret, the same sentiments he had felt when he was slowly succumbing to the werewolf venom. Visions of Valerious Manor haunted his mind's eye, as did a blurred, hazy image of a face that lurked in the back of his consciousness, which grew more and more taught as it neared the point of bursting into clarity like an arrow shot from a bow.

And then, as Van Helsing emerged from the shadow of a street bridge, a heavily-accented voice spoke to him in Latin tongue: "_It seems you have found me before I could find you._"

The hunter immediately stopped in his tracks, knowing he had found what he was looking for. With one hand resting on his pistol, he stated loudly in answering Latin, "_Show yourself_."

"_I am not hiding from you, Mr Van Helsing. Lift your eyes_."

The man did so, and found himself staring at a dark silhouette sitting on the edge of a pedestal where a large marble statue was mounted. Through the darkness Van Helsing was able to discern that it was a young man, perhaps even a year or two younger than Carl, though his face was obscured by shadows.

Van Helsing drew closer, sensing no threat from the stranger. "_You know my name_," he said. "_Have we met before?_"

"_Once or twice, though I do not think we were ever properly introduced_." The figure gracefully sprang from the statue and landed on his feet without making even the slightest sound, and walked slowly forward until the moon illuminated the features.

Van Helsing uttered a cry of shock as he took a step back.

Prince Velkan Valerious smiled slightly and bowed.

_To Be Continued in Chapter IX_


End file.
